


The Demon in the Music Box

by CynSyn



Series: Celestial Spektors [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Arguing, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is So Done (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breaking Up & Making Up, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Calls Aziraphale 'Angel' (Good Omens), Crowley Can't Say "I Love You" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forbidden Love, Holding Hands, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Love, M/M, Metaphysical Sex, Missing Scene, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Romantic Fluff, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), Secret Relationship, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), True Love, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Crowley (Good Omens), based on a Regina Spektor song, scene: trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Crowley has become increasingly good at packing away and compartmentalizing his feelings over the years.He's not as good at pulling them back out, no matter how much he wants to.Add to that the fatigue and stress of the averted apocalypse, and you've got one raw and angsty demon to contend with.Life inside the music box ain't easy.





	1. The Gears are Always Turning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Samson: A Duet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252062) by [amdg2846](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amdg2846/pseuds/amdg2846). 

> This is loosely based on [Regina Spektor's Music Box](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vk3fh-h3bEc).
> 
> The idea came to me during a discussion with amdg2846 about Regina Spektor's music and their story, Samson: A Duet.  
They told me to write it.
> 
> Two months later, I finally got around to it.

Some say it’s very human to want to reach out for comfort in times of stress or worry. And they’re absolutely correct. But it isn’t strictly a human trait. Even supernatural entities, occult or ethereal, sometimes need a reassuring word, a smile that says it’s going to be okay, or a warm hand to hold. It’s not at all strange to want, to _need_, that confirmation that you aren’t alone. It’s important to _know_ someone is on your side, even, if not especially, when it’s the only person who has been with you through everything.

The bus ride from Tadfield to Mayfair was as uneventful as it was comforting. Hands linked, they sat, side by side, for the first time. It was old hat and startlingly new. It wasn’t that they had never sat beside one another before. There were dozens upon dozens of benches, of trips in the Bentley, and other situations where it had happened. But now, in this very moment, they didn’t have any reason to hide it. Everything was out in the open. There was no more need for plausible deniability. No more skirting around one another for fear of retribution from their respective offices. Whatever was going to happen _was going to happen_, and nothing they did now was going to change that.

They had come so close to getting caught so many times, Crowley reflected as he savored the warmth of the palm pressed against his own. He had become quite skilled at packing and compartmentalizing his feelings over the years. He had to. He couldn’t risk anyone in Hell discovering his feelings and using them against him. He would never have forgiven himself had anyone tried to use Aziraphale to get to him.

Still, it was nice, sitting together on the bus like that. Nothing for either of them to do but wait to reach their destination. No running, no rushing, no struggling, at least for a couple of hours. It was, for all intents and purposes, just the two of them, joined together and side by side, as it always had been, even if at times it had only been metaphorically.

It was precious, this time together. He smiled as he looked down, gently tracing his thumb along the outside of another, soothing it, protecting it from any harm that might come near.

Nothing was coming on the bus, at least. Here they were safe, for the moment. He didn’t know what was going to happen when they stepped off of the bus, but for now, he could have this time that did not previously exist. They created this time together, a composition of a cacophony of discordant notes that somehow just _worked_. It shouldn’t have. Stylistically speaking, there was no way it should have made any sort of harmony.

And yet…

He wrapped his other hand around Aziraphale’s, enclosing it between his two.

And yet…

He brought their hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the joint of the angel’s thumb.

Aziraphale leaned in closer and let out a quiet, but satisfied, sigh. Another mallet-strike note in the music that permeated Crowley. He was full-up of box upon box of cylinders and discs and spools, of combs and keys and springs and gears, all playing different versions of the same song.

Even his physical heart, traitorous thing that it was, beat a rhythm in angelic syllables_. _

_A-zir-a-phale, A-zir-a-phale. _

He closed his eyes, listening to the music within.

_A-zir-a-phale, A-zir-a-phale._

He squeezed the hand in his own.

_A-zir-a-phale, A-zir-a-phale._

The hand squeezed back.

For the first time in 6000 years, Crowley relaxed.

He knew this was only temporary, this haven of the number 6 bus to Oxford. They had until the doors opened in Mayfair, and then it would be all over. They would once more be looking over their shoulders for whatever might be coming.

He never wanted this bus ride to end.

They stepped off the bus, hands still linked, and walked towards Crowley’s flat. If asked, Crowley could spout off at least ten different reasons why they were still holding hands, one just as valid as the next. And they would all be true. But the one reason that was at the forefront of his purpose was the one he wouldn’t dare speak.

_I can’t lose him again. I kept losing him this week. I can’t go through it again._

As long as Aziraphale’s hand was in his, he _knew_ where his angel was. He was within reach. Crowley was determined he would keep his angel safe. He had to.

They walked up the stairs in silence. Once inside, they stood on the other side of the door, looking at one another’s hands. After a moment, and without looking up, Crowley broke the silence.

“Did you want—”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, cutting him off. “In extraordinary amounts.”

Crowley grinned slightly. “Anything you want, Angel.”

As much as he hated to do it, he decided they were safe enough in his flat that he could let go of Aziraphale’s hand so long as he was still within earshot and easy view.

“Whiskey, wine, or—”

“I don’t care. Surprise me. But it needs to be at least old enough to order itself.”

The demon let out an amused snort as he went to fetch glasses and a decanter.

“We don’t really know what’s going to happen next, do we,” Aziraphale said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“No, I suppose we don’t. But whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

“No, I suppose not.” The angel looked down into his glass as if he had hoped to find the answers to life’s mysteries among the ice cubes.

Crowley leaned his head back next to Aziraphale on the couch and closed his eyes.

“Are you tired, my dear?”

“Exhausted.”

“Are you going to sleep?” A meek voice asked.

“No, just… just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Crowley didn’t answer verbally, at least, not in a way that made any sort of comprehensible words. It was more of a series of noises, hand gestures, and head bobs while his eyes remained closed.

“Oh, well, that _does_ sound… deep and meaningful.”

Crowley grinned at the ceiling and rolled his eyes.

“But while we’re on the subject,” Aziraphale continued, “I think there are some things we ought to discuss, if you’re amenable.”

Crowley sighed without looking away from the ceiling. “That’s going to depend on the topic, Angel. I don’t know how amenable I’m prepared to be just now.”

“That’s sort of what I’m getting at. We… We don’t know if… If we’re going to…If, if they… Heaven and Hell…” His voice trailed off.

“I am not currently amenable to discussing _that _just now.”

“No, I suppose not. Though we _do_ need to. But perhaps not right this second, no.”

Crowley nodded.

“But there is something else, perhaps tangentially related. Something I should tell you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a very long time now, but—"

“Angel, I—"

“You don’t have to, you know,” Aziraphale whispered. “It’s all right if you don’t.”

“I do, and I do… because _I do_,” Crowley replied.

The angel looked at the demon, eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

“You… you do?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, save for an almost inaudible sigh as the gears wound down. He sat there, silently, as Aziraphale watched him with waiting eyes. Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his mouth and exhaled through his nose. He opened his eyes, focusing on the bridge of Aziraphale’s nose, hoping the angel wouldn’t notice the subtle lack of eye contact.

He did.

“Crowley?” He tilted his head, their eyes locking together momentarily. It was all too much for Crowley.

The demon tried to speak again, but after taking a breath, all that came out was a strangled growl as he wound his metaphorical key so hard the gears stripped and slipped. His lips pressed together tightly into a strained smile.

Aziraphale looked crestfallen as he jumped up, collecting their glasses. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to get some sleep. I’ll just... tidy up a bit.”

Crowley was instantly by his side, their fingers brushing as he pulled the glasses out of Aziraphale’s hands. “Sssit down, Angel,” he murmured. “I’ll… You’re my guest. Let me do that.” Without looking back, he stepped into the kitchen.

Normally, the glasses would be clean and put away with a snap of his fingers. Today was far from normal. He was _tired_. The kind of tired that aches down into one’s marrow and back out again to circulate through the blood, just spreading it back and forth in waves throughout the body. It was easier, he thought, to do it the human way right now. At least, that’s the excuse he would give if pressed. And it was partly true. He didn’t feel that he had another miracle left in him for the night. But more than that, it was a distraction. It was a way to step outside of a conversation he was having difficulty unpacking.

He knew the words were there, the sounds and notes punched into little tin rolls, pinning secrets into the dark recesses of himself. Each memory, each feeling, lovingly and carefully hammered into the metal at his core, forever changed, never to be the same again. He would always box them away, cherishing them, knowing that they were safe and hidden, but without the ability to play their music again without opening the lid.

He was never particularly _good_ at opening the boxes once they had been closed.

_This, _he thought as he squirted soap under the water running into the sink_, **This**, this is something I **can** do, though, right?_ It was what he had been doing for millennia, after all. _This_ was all the words left unsaid, songs he knew note for note but could never play for anyone else, not directly, anyway. _Actions speak louder than words_, _so they say_. _Who are they, and have they ever actually had any luck with that?_ Acts of service, they called them. Crowley had been _acting_ for the better part of 6000 years by now. And it wasn’t just about grand gestures, either, not that he had ever been lacking there.

_Who else is going to offer to whisk Aziraphale off to the stars to keep him safe? There wasn’t anyone else running into the bookshop when… _

_No_. He closed his eyes and leaned to grip the edge of the sink. “No,” he whispered out loud to himself.

He wasn’t going to think about that right now, but he also didn’t quite have the strength to pack it away just yet. It wouldn’t do to go through all of that again just to have it open up and spill out because he hadn’t put it away properly.

Where was he? Oh, yes. General gestures that didn’t necessarily need to be grand so much as consistent and considerate. Little things, like holding a door open or picking up the bill whenever they were out. Remembering how the angel preferred his tea and making sure it happened just so. Big things, like rescuing the angel from so many corporation-threatening situations at the risk of the wrath of Hell coming down on him for aiding and abetting the opposition.

_Not that it wouldn’t have been worth it_, he thought. Not that he strictly _needed_ accolades or thanks more than his name carried on the breath of an angelic smile, _but it would be nice if—_

He felt an almost searing heat on his fingertips. Opening his eyes, he looked down into sink he was leaning on, now full of bubbles and threatening to spill out into the floor. He exhaled sharply and turned off the tap.


	2. Slip My Hands In And Start To Make Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Can’t get distracted like that again, he thought. Have to be alert and aware. Heaven or Hell could show up at any minute. I can’t lose him again. I won’t._   


_Can’t get distracted like that again,_ he thought. _Have to be alert and aware. Heaven or Hell could show up at any minute. I can’t lose him again. I won’t. _

He inhaled sharply and reached for the bottle on the counter. He unscrewed the cap, spinning it with a little more vigor than he realized he had, and watched as it shot off into the sink. He took a sip straight from the bottle.

_Right, this is the opposite of staying alert, _he thought._ Although, _he pondered, eyeing the bottle as he tilted his head side to side with a thoughtful pout_, I could definitely use something to soothe my nerves. Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound._

He put the neck of the bottle back to his lips, drinking deeply. Reaching his free hand into the sink to try to find the cap, he waved the suds back and forth to clear the surface. Water sloshed up over the edge and into the floor.

“Crowley?”

The demon pulled the bottle from his mouth with a _pop_ as he spun around, licking his lips. He slipped in the spilled water, just barely catching himself on the edge of the sink again.

“Angel,” he said with all the casual grace of a wet noodle.

“Crowley, are you sure you’re all right?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Aziraphale.” _I’m lying. I’m a lying liar. We both know what you want. And we both know you need to hear it. I **want** to say it. I **need** to say it. It won’t come out. I’ve desperately wanted to say it so badly. You deserve to hear it. I’ll give it to you, anything you want, just give me time to get it for you. It’s inside of me, I swear._

“It’s just,” the angel wrung his hands together as he spoke. “With everything that’s happened today, I think, it’s okay to _not_ be okay, if you need.”

“What?”

“Are you okay? Because if you’re not…”

“Oh, Somebody, is that what this is about? How the Heaven should I know how to feel right now? This has never happened before, to _anyone_! It’s uncharted territory, Aziraphale. This moment right now? It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Unless…”

“Oh, please don’t, Angel. Please don’t say it. I’m so tired. I don’t even think I have another miracle left in me right now, but the _real_ miracle would be not having to hear that blasted word again tonight.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale tutted. “You _do_ look exhausted. Perhaps you should take a shower and go to bed, then.”

Crowley looked down at the water in the floor, tapping his toe in it. “Oh, no, it’s fine.” _I can’t. I can’t do anything that could distract me from protecting you if they showed up here. If I sleep, you’re going to have to be between me and the wall. And there’s nothing I can do to protect you if I can’t hear you while I’m in the shower. And I’d look really intimidating slipping in a puddle of water and landing flat on my ass coming out of a bath trying to run after you. Probably knock myself unconscious or worse, and then they’d get you anyway. That can’t happen. I’ll not lose you again, Aziraphale. I’ll come undone. _“I’m fine,” he lied.

He was not _fine_. He was wound tightly with an unknown, but finite, number of key turns shy of an explosion of ribbons, springs, and cogs.

He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm, inadvertently smearing soot into it. He groaned and squinted as his eye watered.

“Crowley, you’re filthy. Don’t you at least want to get cleaned up? Surely you’d be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine.”

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I can see how uncomfortable you are.”

“Uncomfortable? I’m not uncomfortable.” His instinct to be deliberately combative was stronger than his ability to hold his tongue at the moment. “Whatever would make you think I’m uncomfortable?”

“You smell like a tire fire and you look like a chimney sweep. I know you, and I know you can’t stand that. Just, please, a good scrub and some fresh clothes won’t fix everything, but it’s a start.”

“I always look like a chimney sweep, Angel. Comes from being a snake. That’s what I am. It’s in the description. Long, narrow, able to slide into small, dark crevices.”

“Fine. A used chimney _brush_, then.” He pointed at Crowley’s mussed hair. “Your bristles are even bent.”

“Just let it go,” Crowley’s fatigue and stress added a hint of a whine to his voice.

“I really think if you could just—”

“I can’t do this right now, Angel.”

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I _am_ fine,” Crowley said, turning to face the sink again.

He saw Aziraphale fold his arms across his chest in his peripheral view.

“I’m _fine_, Aziraphale.”

“You’re not.”

Frustrated, he growled and lowered his face and hands down into the sink, sloshing water everywhere while scrubbing away at the soot and grit of the day. He pulled his head back up, gasping for breath he didn’t need. He spun around to face Aziraphale again quickly as a glittering spray of water flung out towards him. Somewhat miraculously, not a drop landed on the angel.

“Would you like a towel?” Aziraphale asked flatly.

“I _have a towel_, thank you,” Crowley replied, uselessly wiping at his face and hair with a dish cloth.

“Are you quite finished?”

A gear clicked in Crowley’s mind. He visibly slumped against the counter as he felt every last bit of adrenaline finally leaving his system. The weight of the Sword of Damocles bore down upon him, exacerbating the fatigue that had been exponentially increasing over the previous week. He looked Aziraphale directly in the eye intentionally for the first time since they had left Tadfield. “I think I might be.”

He stumbled slightly as he moved from the sink to a chair, Aziraphale reaching out to steady him as he helped guide him into the seat. “They’re gonna kill us, Angel.” Crowley ran his hands through his wet hair, leaning his elbows on the table. “I mean, I don’t know for sure what your old lot might do to you. I have some ideas, but I assume _that_ would have already happened had it been the case. Anyway, I _hope_ they don’t want to kill you, but I _know_ mine plan to kill me.” Water from his hair dripped down his arms, pooling on the table. He lowered his hands to stare at the wet streaks in his palms. “And if I’m right, they’re gonna use Holy Water to do it.”

“You don’t know that,” Aziraphale said, his eyebrows furrowed.

“There’s a stain that used to be a Duke in my office right now that says otherwise, Angel. They’ve already come for me once, and all I had done then was lost the Antichrist. And now my list of charges includes killing a Duke and stopping Armageddon while in cahoots with a member of the opposition. That’s not the sort of thing that gets answered with a rude note.”

Aziraphale reached over to take Crowley’s hands in his own. The demon looked back at him, tears threatening to spill over his wide, golden eyes. “You’re going to be all alone. I don’t want to leave you all alone. I never did.”

“Don’t say that.” The angel reached a hand up to cup the trembling chin of the demon.

“You’re supposed to look both ways before you cross a street, Aziraphale.” Crowley was staring through him with wild eyes as he spoke. “Did you know that? Because I’ve never seen you do it. I’ve literally had to stop traffic while you walked through it.”

“Are you suggesting that I am incapable of taking care of myself?” Aziraphale pouted in an attempt to conceal his growing fear that Crowley was right about tomorrow.

“It isn’t that you aren’t capable. It’s that you don’t. You _don’t_, Aziraphale. You just, you get these ideas, these _inclinations_, and you go head-first and half-cocked into things and hope for the best.”

“And then the best shows up to come to my assistance.”

Crowley whined and rolled his eyes. “I’m not the best, Aziraphale.”

“You are. You’re so good, Crowley, and you don’t even know it.”

“I’m not _good_, Aziraphale. I’m not _kind_, I’m not _nice_. The only _good_ thing about me is _you_. Something that precious needs to be preserved and protected. And after tomorrow—”

“You are so much better than you think, Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted.

“And _after tomorrow_,” Crowley repeated, “I probably won’t even exist anymore, Angel. You’re going to have to start taking better care of yourself.”

Aziraphale had seen the look in Crowley’s eyes earlier that afternoon on the tarmac. He had given up again. “Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Angel, please. I can’t…“ He looked away, trying his damndest to collapse the springs pushing up on the lid of the current box he was trying to close up inside of himself. His desperation to hold back the plaintive notes further fractured what little resolve he had left. His breath shook in his chest as the lid flew open and the notes spilled out. “I can’t take this, Aziraphale. I don’t want anything to happen to you, and if I can’t be there to protect you, you’re going to _have_ to do more to protect yourself. You’re too trusting of the goodness in people where it just doesn’t belong. It would be endearing if it weren’t so dangerous. If I’m not there, you… If you get discorporated now, I don’t think you’ll be able to come back with a body. You’ve got to survive, or else all of this was for nothing. The world needs you.”

“There isn’t a world for _me_ without _you_ in it.”

“Don’t say that. Please.”

“Nothing for it, I’m afraid. If you aren’t here, there’s nothing left for me.”

“You faced down Heaven, Hell, and Satan himself because you love this world and everything in it.”

“Not as much as I love _you_.” The look in Aziraphale’s eyes was startlingly harsh for the words he had spoken.

Crowley’s eyes closed as he stumbled within himself, mental and emotional fatigue pulling at the hands trying to open one of the hundreds of thousands of boxes that all contained the same identical song he had been singing since nearly the beginning. How many times had he wanted to say the words? How many times had he caught them on the tip of his tongue before using them to fill the pin-pricked holes in his clockwork heart?

He opened his eyes, but the only sound he could make was the heaviness of his breathing as a frustrated sob threatened to rattle loose in his chest.


	3. Dip my tongue in and take a taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had said the words before. Three times, in fact.

He had said the words before. Three times, in fact. 

The first time he had said it, in 133 BC, it surprised him how natural it felt to do so. The formal Arrangement wouldn’t exist for many years, but even then, there was an Understanding between them. When they were assigned to the same area and weren’t busy with their tasks, they spent their time together. Strangely enough, they had both been assigned to Rome, and their duties happened to coincide with one another. Follow the new Tribune. Help support his agenda, but don’t otherwise interfere. At first, they had separate bases in Rome, but after discovering identical orders within the first week, they thought it might be prudent to share lodgings in an effort to increase the ease of working together.

There had always been a spark of connection between the two of them, even during their time in Eden. Working so closely together had managed to cultivate that spark into a bit of a flame. Although, if he were being honest with himself, Crawley had already been close to burning for a few thousand years before this.

Crawley was suspicious that both Heaven and Hell had their agents on Earth working with the same instructions. They couldn’t possibly have the same goal, could they? He supposed it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, because either way, they were both duty-bound. He did his best to shove that lingering doubt to the back of his mind. He found that he genuinely appreciated the work that Tiberius was doing. The wealthy had been taking up the land of the poor, of the war wives and their children. Tiberius was working to change that, to ensure no more soldiers would come home to nothing, and to stop the rich from taking up everything and leaving nothing to remain. And while this would have been enough on its own, there was one thing that was more important than anything else, though he likely wouldn’t have admitted to at the time if asked. Crawley _liked_ working _with_ Aziraphale instead of _against_ him. He felt like maybe his soul was a little less dirty while doing the same work as an angel, but also, he really liked it when he made the angel smile. Crawley truly enjoyed the work he was doing, for one of the first times in his miserable existence since his Fall. He was quite possibly as happy as he had ever been.

Tiberius had begun to fear for his life, as well as the lives of his family. Aziraphale and Crawley had been spending more and more time amongst the followers camped out in watch over the Tribune. They sat together, one night, next to the communal fire as people told stories, laughed, and passed around food and wine. As the hour grew later and the darkness greater, the distance between them shrank until Aziraphale was practically in Crawley’s lap, snoring softly. He looked down at the angel, stroking his stark fire-lit curls, and smiled. “Oh, how I have loved you, Aziraphale,” he whispered. It was as if a weight had lifted off of his chest as the words left his breath to form into reality. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back on the log they had been leaning against, and continued to stroke the downy-fine curls until he, too, succumbed to sleep.

They were to assemble in the Capital in the morning, though there had been concerns of danger. Tiberius, however, would not be cowed. His purpose was too great. When the fighting broke out, Crawley rushed towards the commotion. He was almost there when he felt strong hands grabbing at his arm.

“You mustn’t!” Aziraphale said to him, barely audible over the shouts of the crowd.

“They’re going to _kill_ him, Aziraphale! We’ve got to do _something_!” He was screaming over the chaos.

“Crawley, you know we can’t.” Crawley made another attempt to pull free, to run to Tiberius and try to pull him from the crowd. “Please, Crawley, you have to stop. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

They watched as the final blow struck.

“No,” Crawley whispered, though it was clear that Aziraphale heard him. “I suppose there isn’t.”

He gave Aziraphale one last baleful look and walked away.

The second time he spoke his love aloud, in 48 BC, it just slipped out while sleep-drunk, lying next to the angel late one night in their cozy little home. Aziraphale had already fallen asleep, and as soon as the words crossed his lips, Crawley fell into his own slumber. They had both been in Egypt at the time, having tasks to perform on either side of the civil war. When Aziraphale wasn’t working under Heaven’s instruction, he spent his time in the library. Oh, how he adored unfettered access to row after row of scrolls and tablets! Such a rich and varied account of human history, right at his fingertips. He had grown quite fond of the creativity and cunning of humans, particularly when it came to the written word. Other than the nights he spent with Crawley, it was quite possibly the happiest he had ever been.

The screams woke them that night. The lights coming through the windows were flickering and orange, and the air smelled of smoke and ash. They dressed quickly and ran outside to see people running through the streets of Alexandria as the shipyards and parts of the town burned. Crawley would never, even in a million years, forget the heartbroken look on Aziraphale’s face as he watched the library go up in flames.

Crawley left the morning after, while Aziraphale stayed behind to help rebuild.

The final time, it slipped out by accident in spite of every attempt to avoid speaking it. It was a few years after the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth. Aziraphale had been instructed by Heaven to head to Jerusalem to follow a man named Stephen, to inspire him, but strictly commanded not to interfere with anything that might happen. Crowley hadn’t received any orders from Hell recently, so she tagged along, posing as Aziraphale’s wife. They both quickly found themselves becoming quite fond of the human. Crowley admired the way the man thought and questioned the status quo. Aziraphale respected the love he had for his fellow man. They spent their days listening to Stephen’s lectures, and their nights with one another. Overall, it had been a lovely assignment, both on the clock and off.

On one particular night, after more wine than was strictly necessary and less restraint than might have necessarily been advised, she found herself watching the angel as he slept in the early hours before dawn. She wondered how an angel so beautiful and so pure could ever care for a demon such as herself. She traced her fingertip delicately across his face, memorizing every crease, dip, and line. He sighed in his sleep and moved closer, burrowing his head against her shoulder. “I love you,” she whispered into his hair without thinking. She kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes, drifting off. 

They slept through most of the day, waking up to a commotion that they were all but too late to do anything to correct.

Stephen had been falsely put to trial for blasphemy. After asking too many uncomfortable but valid questions regarding the death of Jesus of Nazareth, an angry mob dragged him to the eastern gate and stoned him to death. As he lay dying, he prayed, and Aziraphale gave him a vision of comfort and soothed him into slumber. Later, after the crowd had cleared, there were a few people who remained, like-minded, to see to the funeral rites. Crowley and some of the other women washed the man’s body while Aziraphale and a few other men set to his burial.

When they returned to the room they had been letting, there was a glowing envelope with a golden sigil waiting for the angel. Aziraphale had received a commendation from Heaven for allowing things to proceed as planned, and for bestowing mercy to Stephen. He would be granted Sainthood as a martyr, the letter explained. Aziraphale accepted his commendation as a reminder to be more vigilant, even though he knew he would not have been allowed to interfere. Still, he felt he should have been there, to comfort him, long before the first stone had ever been thrown.

The former Guardian of the Eastern Gate made the decision to stop sleeping.

It didn’t get much clearer than that, the Serpent of Eden thought. She placed a red rose and a black feather from her wing on the bedside table before she disappeared into the dark night. She told herself that she should shift her form to allow for easier travel without another man-shaped being. The truth, however, was much more complex. She thought that, perhaps, it would be easier to do what she was about to do once she had changed. Fresh start, and all that. Rise from the ashes. New beginnings from new endings, and whatnot.

_It’s fine for me to love you_, he thought_, but whenever I speak the words, people get hurt. **You** get hurt. I can’t be the reason you get hurt anymore._

He made the decision to stay away from the angel, to protect him from himself. He was a demon, after all, destined to curse everything he touched. He made an effort to avoid the angel as much as he could. Whenever he felt Aziraphale close in the past, he went out of his way to seek the angel out. It wouldn’t do to continue on this way. Too much temptation, being so close. He decided to put multiple seas between them. He left Jerusalem and returned to Rome.

The distance was short-lived, however, as only a few years later, Aziraphale had found _him_.

“Crawley?” He caught himself, correcting his mistake. “Crowley? Fancy running into you here!”

The last time Crowley presented as male, Aziraphale knew him as Crawley. But the last time they had spent time together, the name was Crowley. Sweet Aziraphale, so resistant to change, was trying to be respectful and adapt for him. _Here you are, so full of love_, he thought_. I never even told you it was goodbye. You didn’t know. Wicked thing that I am, I hurt you again, but maybe you haven’t felt it yet. Now that I can’t avoid you, maybe I can get it right this time and spare you any more pain_. It ached in his lonesome heart.

“Still a demon, then?”

Oh, if that wasn’t just a knife to the chest.

“What kind of a stupid question is that? ‘_Still a demon?_’ What else am I going to be? An aardvark?”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, don’t.”

_Well, fuck_, he though_. Here I am, doing it all over again. None of this is his fault. If I really didn’t want to hurt him anymore, I wouldn’t be trying to do it now._

He sighed. “Cup of wine?”

“Salutaria! In Rome long?” The angel offered his cup.

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation,” the demon replied, tapping his own against it. There was no need to bring the ugly truth into this.

“Tempting anyone special?” Aziraphale hid his grin behind his cup as he took a drink, never taking his eyes off of the demon.

_Oh, you **bastard**. You glorious bastard of an angel. You know exactly what you do to me, don’t you._

The conversation continued, mostly shop talk, until, as they tended to do, the topic turned to food.

“I hear he does remarkable things to oysters,” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with delight as he spoke.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley replied, failing at feigning disinterest.

“Let me tempt you to… Oops, that’s your job, isn’t it?” Aziraphale looked at him with that twinkle in his eye that belied the innocence of his words.

Crowley’s resolve crumbled as he drew his head back in a besotted smirk. Oh, he had _missed_ Aziraphale. They had gone far longer between seeing one another before, but it had been different. Before, their time apart didn’t ache in quite the same way. There had never been a _last time_ for everything that he hadn’t known would have been the _last_ time. No last brush of fingertips, last smell of hair, last taste of skin. Before, there was always a Next time to look forward to.

The last few years in the After had felt, for Crowley, at least, like half of a lifetime. Not merely in the passage of time, but in a life half-lived. There was something missing from his soul that could not be replaced. That sort of thing adds quite a bit of weight, a certain gravity of longing, to even the shortest of timespans.

He decided he would do whatever was necessary to keep Aziraphale safe and in his life. He began carefully and lovingly piercing his own core to pin the music in his heart down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day?
> 
> Well!
> 
> You're probably not going to get a chapter tomorrow, because that's my birthday and I'd like to be doing other things, so I'm posting tomorrow's chapter today instead.
> 
> Rest assured, I have a lot of the next chapter written already, so expect another update by the end of the week most likely. (Unless I get a random urge to write strong enough to make me stop everything else, that is.)
> 
> You might notice that some of the Rome dialogue comes from the Good Omens Script Book. That's because it does. Not all of that was included in the actual show, but I liked some of the extra lines and felt they helped me carry along my plot when combined with Crowley's thoughts.


	4. It Tastes Like Soap, But It Doesn't Really Taste Like Soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has questions, and Aziraphale suggests making a deal for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied, _inadvertently._  
I ended up getting an inspiration instead of sleeping last night, and then another flash this afternoon and managed to knock out a couple chapters while it was on my mind.  
I really _had_ intended to just relax today. But I just _knew_ if I didn't write down what was going through my mind, I'd forget a lot of it by the time I was ready to write. It's also near-freezing and I didn't really want to do much that involved not being under a blanket next to my computer, anyway.  
And now I have birthday cake (Italian Cream, my favorite), so I wanted to spread some joy.  
And sometimes joy takes the form of angst. Except when it doesn't.

Sitting at the kitchen table in his flat in Mayfair, next to Aziraphale, Crowley lowered his face into his hands and began thinking about all the _new_ last times he hadn’t known were going to be _last times_ all over again. And not even for the first time that day.

Today had been full of reminders of _lasts_ that should have just been _until next times_. They knew there had been the chance they would fail, and there would be a war. But Crowley had never really been able to accept that.

Even after the fight at the bandstand the day before, he knew it wasn’t really over. Maybe not in the moment, but after a sleepless night of trying to figure out how to get his angel to see reason, he knew they’d find a way to work things out between them. They always did. The difference then was not having the luxury of time to get over themselves.

_How many times, Angel? How many times would I have had to have asked before you would have come with me? It’s too late now, you know? If we had run before, they might have assumed we had been killed in the war and never have come looking for us, too distracted by destroying each other. That was the plan, the contingency. If we had failed, if Armageddon had started, I would have stolen you away, somehow. Maybe you might have hated me for it at first, but at least you’d be alive and safe, away from all of the fighting and destruction. There’s no distraction now, is there? We’ve painted targets on our backs that can be seen from across the universe. _

_But that’s not your fault. Never your fault. Sometimes your fault. Equally? We’re both to blame this time, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got you… For as long as I can, anyway._

_If I could, I’d hold you forever, you clever idiot. I could put you in a white lacquered box with golden clasps and pale velvet lining. Would you like that? Knowing you, you’d prefer something with tartan. Oh, Go-, Sa-, Someone, that sounds too much like a coffin._

_ I’m not going to think about this right now. Don’t think about this. You were gone. I came back for you again and you were gone. Turns out I’m a bit shit at protecting you. Is that why this keeps happening? Why do I keep losing you, Angel? I should stop thinking about this._

_But you’re not really gone this time, are you? You’re right here. It’s me that’s going this time, not you. It isn’t like at the Bookshop. You’re not burning. You’re here, beside me, where you belong. You didn’t really burn then, anyway. And where was I when you were being discorporated? Off being fucking **dramatic**._

“Angel,” his voice was so small, muffled by the hands propping his head up. “What happened today? I mean, when you were… Erm… After, after I drove off? You know…when I said…Well, we both know what I said.”

Nothing but silence.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale sat, eyes down, worrying his ring. “I don’t want to tell you.”

He lifted his head out of his hands to look at Aziraphale. “Why not?” There was no heat in his voice, only concern.

“Ah, I’m afraid that telling you why would defeat the purpose of not telling you at all, my dear.”

“Aziraphale,” the demon huffed.

The angel looked up to meet his eyes. “Crowley.”

The demon sighed, leaning back in his chair, facing the ceiling. “Are you saying you _can’t_ tell me, or that you just don’t want to?”

“Is there a difference?”

_Ouch_. Too worn-ragged to meter his body language, Crowley’s shoulders visibly drooped.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up as he realized what he had said. “_Oh_! Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear. Yes, of course there’s a difference. Of course. I…” He looked the demon over momentarily, huffing a breath through his nose. “How about if we make a deal?”

Crowley slowly swung his head around to look at him expectantly and patiently.

“If you will get into the bath—”

He shook his head slowly and jutted out his bottom lip. “Nope.”

“Hush. Don’t interrupt me, dear. As I was saying, if you will get into the bath, I will sit in the room _with_ you and tell you everything. I will tell you the first part while you’re bathing, and then the rest once you’re clean and comfortable.”

“Angel…”

“These are my terms. You can take them or leave them. On this, I will not budge. I will not bend.”

The two sat, silently staring one another down. Normally, Crowley knew he could convince Aziraphale to most anything if he needed to. They trusted one another, and it made all the difference. But when Aziraphale put his metaphorical Oxfords down, that was it. He would not change his mind under any external influences he did not specifically request. And under normal circumstances, Crowley would generally grumble, grunt, and whine, and somewhere in all the noise, he would give in. But this was different.

This was about safety, wasn’t it? Maybe he could give in just a bit. Maybe if he were still within arm’s reach of Aziraphale, it would be okay. If Hell showed up, and Crowley jumped up out of the tub, he could cause enough of a distraction that Aziraphale could escape. _That would show him, _Crowley thought_. Might finally take this seriously if I had to fight off the forces of Hell with nothing but a wiggle and a bottle of shampoo._

They were both going to need to be more flexible.

“Erm… Counter-offer?”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes slightly and pursed his lips for a moment, considering. “I’m listening.”

“You have to be next to the tub, close enough that I could reach you.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, humming as he drummed his fingers on his knee. “I can do one better. How about if I sit close enough to wash the stench of burned rubber out of your hair?”

“Done.”

They shook hands. Without letting go of one another, Aziraphale stood up and helped Crowley to his feet. Though he tried to hide it by looking towards the door, Crowley could see the satisfaction tugging at the corners of the angel’s lips. _I’d know that smile anywhere, Angel, _he thought._ That’s the smile that reminds me you **know** that you have me in the palm of your hand._

“Point the way, my dear.”

Crowley nodded and motioned with their clasped hands down the hall.

“Have you any clean pajamas? Something comfortable to wear?”

“Y-yeah, just through here.” They entered his bedroom and walked up to one of the walls. Aziraphale gave him a cynical look as they stood in front of a panel on an otherwise bare wall. “Stylistic choice,” the demon explained as he pushed the panel in and slid a portion of the wall back to reveal an expansive closet area.

“Oh, it’s like a secret lair! Is this how you keep your pants so tight, my dear? By depriving them of oxygen and daylight?”

Crowley snorted, relaxing a bit. “Yes, Angel. That’s exactly it.” He grabbed a set of black satin pajamas off of a shelf.

“Really? Black satin?”

“What were you expecting?”

“Well, actually… _That_, if I’m being honest. Although a bit less of it.”

“You’re just used to what you’ve seen me in before. This is what I sleep in when I’m alone and at home.”

The angel arched an eyebrow suggestively. “How often are you not alone at home?”

Crowley sighed. “You know what I meant. So far, tonight’s the first.”

The angel smiled slightly and looked at the floor. “I’m sorry I haven’t been over before now. I—”

Crowley lifted the hand holding the pajamas up, placing his finger on Aziraphale’s lips to shush him. “It’s all right, Angel. I understand. I know why.”

Aziraphale looked up at him with bright, shining eyes.

“It made more sense that I might go to a shop than it did for you to go to someone’s flat. Less suspicious, really. Hell wouldn’t have thought twice on me lurking about spying on an angel or pestering humans in a shop. But Heaven wouldn’t understand an angel popping over for a night cap with a demon.”

“Yes, well, that’s all in the past now, I suppose.” His face darkened for a moment. He took a deep breath, squared off his shoulders, and squeezed the demon’s hand gently. “So! Where is your bath?”

Crowley led them into the bathroom and, begrudgingly let go of the angel’s hand. Aziraphale immediately set out amongst the potions and notions, opening lids and sniffing with an almost profane delight. “You certainly do have a wide variety of fragrances here.”

“I like to experiment with scent.”

“I’ve noticed. You tend to smell like fragrances I’ve talked about, usually within a week of me mentioning them.”

“You noticed that, did you?” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck.

“Noticed it? My dear, I took _advantage_ of it!” Aziraphale grinned triumphantly.

“You what?” His eyes were wide, an astonished smile creeping up his face.

“When I began noticing it, I had to be certain, so I started experimenting. Once I knew what was happening, that you were taking my suggestions, I may have, hypothetically… gotten you to scent yourself to my tastes.” He smiled daintily, raising his eyebrows.

“You…” Crowley was near-speechless and his eyes were full of delighted fondness. “You absolute _bastard_.”

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in a grin and leaned over to turn on the tap. Crowley watched, mesmerized, as the angel rolled up his sleeves and added different potions into the rising water. He ran his hands back and forth, stirring it around. Crowley watched the waves lapping at the sides of the tub, lost in thought. Memories of the past flickered through his mind’s eye. Memories of ships, of canoes, of the Ark. He could still remember the smell of the rain as it began. He always tried to focus on that, rather than what came after. He never could quite get that box to close. Whenever it got to be too much for him, he tried to shift the memory to the first time he had ever smelled rain. It was his favorite memory of water, and one of the precious few he had that didn’t involve nightmares. It was the first act of kindness he had received since his Fall. Well, the second, really.

_Good conversation should never be taken for granted_, he thought. _Especially when the alternative is being smited on sight. I used to wonder why you did it. But I think I know now. You never were like the other angels. You were always so much better and you never even realized it, did you? Do you? You used to make sure I knew you were an angel, but something always felt off, like maybe it wasn’t me you were trying to convince. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself. I wish I could tell you and make you understand. Could I risk it? Would the words even come out, or would they get lost in the mechanism like so many others? Would you believe me now, now that everything has changed? Could you love yourself as much as I love you if you thought you were free to do so? Maybe it’s my fault that you don’t know. Maybe I messed things up when I—_

When it appeared to be acceptable, Aziraphale looked back over at Crowley. “Do get in, my dear.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley said, snapping out of his reverie. He began to undress, cracking his neck as he struggled with the buttons.

“I can help if you need,” Aziraphale set to work, gently easing the shirt back over Crowley’s shoulders and tossing it in the corner. Once everything was removed, he carefully helped Crowley into the tub and sat down on a stool behind him.

As soon as he was submerged in the warm water, his eyes closed and his body began to relax, and muscles he hadn’t even realized had been clenched loosened. After a few minutes of silence, he opened his eyes and looked up at Aziraphale, who was looking a bit far away in spite of being right next to him. “Well?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The angel smiled and turned his face back towards Crowley with a smile. “Well, let’s see… Where to begin?”


	5. Lower In My Whole Mouth And Take A Gulp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale washes Crowley's hair while Crowley discovers a few truths.

“Begin from the moment I drove away. I want to know it all.”

“Oh, I don’t think you do.”

He twisted around in the water to protest before Aziraphale turned the demon’s face forward again, tilting his head back to wet his hair.

“Fine, but do be still. I don’t want to get this in your eyes.”

Crowley grunted and closed his eyes.

“As you drove away,” Aziraphale carefully poured shampoo onto Crowley’s hair as he spoke,” A gentleman came up to me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He told me that I was better off without you, and that he had been there, too.” Aziraphale worked the shampoo into a lather as he spoke.

“Oh, what did he know?” The demon growled.

“Well, my dear, I _assume_ he recognized a tantrum when he saw one.” The angel dug his fingertips into the demon’s scalp.

Crowley melted in spite of himself. “I wasn’t throwing a tantrum,” he grumbled.

“Of course not. You were simply storming away loudly like a six-millennia old toddler in an antique car.”

“Wasn’t a tantrum,” Crowley muttered quietly.

“But you were also right,” Aziraphale continued as he massaged his fingers through Crowley’s soapy hair.

“I was?” Crowley looked up above his head to try to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale.

The angel leaned over to look down at the demon. “You were. After that, I was walking back to the bookshop when some of the Archangels dropped by. Anyway, after that, I—”

“Tell me about the Archangels, Aziraphale.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We agreed. I am literally at your soapy mercy right now as payment for my side of the agreement.”

“One might think that being at my soapy mercy might make you a bit less demanding.”

“One would be incorrect. Many, in fact, would be.”

“Many what, my dear?”

“Many… _ones_, Aziraphale. You know, the—" Crowley leaned his head back to look up at Aziraphale, who seemed to be focusing more intently on working suds through each individual strand of hair than he was on the conversation. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ll not get out of this. I’ve paid my ticket and you owe me this story.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered briefly to catch a glimpse of Crowley’s eyebrows as they raised in a _Get on with it_ expression.

“Oh, come on, now. Give a dying demon his last wish.”

Aziraphale stiffened. “That’s not funny, Crowley,” he admonished.

“Just because it’s not funny doesn’t make it any less true. Or is the plan to wait around until it’s too late to have to tell me anyway?”

Aziraphale leaned back and looked at him, his face showing nothing and _everything_ all at once. He picked up a towel to wipe off his hands as he stood up and turned to walk away.

Summoning what felt like his last bit of strength, Crowley lunged forward in the tub, grabbing at Aziraphale’s hand. “No, Angel, please! I’m sorry. Don’t go. Please don’t leave. I’m sorry. Please… Just… just… Please, Angel, I...” His hand slipped down Aziraphale’s arm and fell to dangle limply from the edge of the tub, his other hand covering his face as he quietly sobbed in frustration.

_I’ve done it again. I ruin everything I touch. I’ve ruined him, and I can’t even say the blasted words he deserves to hear. Maybe he’ll be better off when I’m gone. If he were smart, he’d probably walk out the door. And hopefully, if he does leave, he’ll at least look both ways when he crosses the street._

He could practically hear Aziraphale’s voice in his head_. “You’re being ridiculous.”_

_I really am, _he thought_. I get so wound up when I can’t tell you how I feel, and it has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? I wish it didn’t all pop out at you like a broken spring. A broken demon on a broken spring, just bouncing around everywhere, no rhyme or reason to it from your point of view. What you must think of me, screeching and spinning as my inner workings shriek and pop out of place_. He lowered his forehead to lean on the arm hanging off the edge of the tub.

Aziraphale had stopped when Crowley grabbed at him. Upon seeing the demon near-falling apart, he sighed and sat back down. He stroked Crowley’s soapy hair, pushing it back up out of his face. He gently guided his head back. “Come on, then, let’s get you rinsed. Mind you don’t get any of this in your eyes.”

Crowley, his head back and eyes half- closed, let his arms fall back into the water. “Rotten thing that I am, you take such good care of me, Angel.”

Aziraphale carefully poured clear water over Crowley’s hair, gently massaging away the lather. “I suppose you think you’re lucky I love you as I do.”

Crowley’s shoulders shook as he keened, “I am.”

“You’re not. It’s not luck, Crowley. It’s you. I love _you_, and that’s the shape of it.”

“Angel…”

“You don’t have to do that. I will say it enough for both of us if that is what I must do. The only thing I need from you is for you to believe me when I say it.”

“I’m sorry, Angel. I know it… I know it hurts you that I can’t say it. I want to so badly. You deserve to hear it. It tears me apart that I can’t give that to you. Every time I try to tell you… To say… What I mean is…“ He groaned. _I can’t stand this. This is my **true** Hell. I love, you, Aziraphale. I **love you** so much. The words are here! I have them! I know them! They are real, and they are true! I want you to have them. I **need** you to have them! I keep trying to shove them through my cracks and they always get trapped. Trapped in the Purgatory that is me. _“I just get so frustrated and nothing but _shit _and_ bile_ comes out.”

“I know.”

“I hate it so much. How can you stand it, Aziraphale?”

“It’s because I think I understand why you can’t say it anymore.”

Crowley went pale and stiffened. “What do you mean, _anymore_?”

“I’ve heard you say it, Crowley. A few times, as a matter of fact. Well, maybe. I, I think so, anyway. The first time, I thought I imagined it because I _wanted_ to hear it. Everything was so new and confusing back then. This was back before anything had actually happened, but we—”

“Rome.”

Aziraphale smiled. “So it was real.”

Crowley somehow managed a small nod.

“The second time, I feared it was a dream.”

The ghost of a whisper passed Crowley’s lips. “When?”

“Alexandria. But it wasn’t a dream, was it?”

Crowley could only look up at him, a single, fat tear rolling down his cheek the single confirmation he gave.

“But the last time I ever heard it, that’s when I knew—"

“Because it would hurt you,” Crowley interrupted. “It always hurt you and everyone around us. I hurt you and so many people every time.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “What? But it was never your fault. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“All those times you left, after what Heaven did,” He looked away, guiltily. “After what _I_ did,” he amended, “and sometimes what I _didn’t_ do.”

“Angel, what... What do you mean?” Crowley’s voice was so soft it nearly fell apart.

Aziraphale let out a quick breath as if to steady himself. “Do you remember what happened to Tiberius?”

“S’not the sort of thing you forget.”

“No, I suppose not. Well,” he swallowed dryly before continuing, “You left so quickly afterwards, so of course you wouldn’t have known, but I received a commendation from Heaven for that.”

“Hell sent me one, too. For stirring up trouble with a plebeian uprising and pissing off the senate. But why would Heaven…”

“Populares,” Aziraphale said with a sigh.

“What about it?”

“Heaven’s agenda needed the Populares movement to go forward.”

“Well, that stands to reason, doesn’t it? Feed the hungry, house the destitute, and all that.” Crowley looked puzzled.

“It had nothing to do with any of that. It was never about improving the quality of human lives. They needed the political agenda to move forward.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“But that would mean—”

“Yes. Heaven wanted to be rid of certain texts. What better way than to have them collected in one place—”

“The library. Oh, _Aziraphale_…” He breathed.

Aziraphale nodded. “And you recall Caesar’s political party?”

“So all of that, all of that pain and destruction, that was just Heaven moving their little game pieces around on Earth.”

“Essentially, yes. Heaven had an agenda, and, though I didn’t know it at the time, I played right into it. Heaven supported the Populares movement. It sounds good on paper, until you realize they used it because they needed a way for Caesar to become powerful enough, and have reason, to wage his Civil War.”

“But he hadn’t even been born yet.”

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.”

“You’re serious.”

“I am. This was all my fault.”

“You didn’t know, Angel. You couldn’t have. Not everything. You loved that library.”

“I may not have known all of the details or motivations of what Heaven was planning, but I was complicit all the same with what I _did_ know,” the angel said with a watery smile.

“That doesn’t… It… You…” _Oh, you master of words, you, _He argued with himself_. Silver-tongued devil, you are. Just look at him. He’s blaming himself and you can’t even form a half of a sentence to comfort him_. Crowley exhaled loudly and rubbed his eyes, his hands moving out to rub his temples_._

“You didn’t cause any of this, Crowley. It was never _you_ that hurt me back then. Well, except for one time.”

_Oh, no._ The demon’s eyes flew open wide, his voice trembling. “What did I do?”

“You _left_.”

Crowley’s breath stilled.

“You knew?”

“Of course. You didn’t say goodbye. It was as if I turned around and you were just gone. Not a trace of you but the smell of your hair on the pillow and the rose and feather you left next to our bed.”

Crowley’s hand raised to his mouth. “Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry. I thought…”

“I looked for you. I’ve never been as good as you were at tracking me, of course, but I did look.”

“It’s the scent. Told you before, I know what you smell like. When I try, I can taste you on the air.” He flicked his tongue out quickly and grinned with sadness in his eyes. “Sunshine and pears.”

“Wily old serpent,” Aziraphale smiled warmly. “But yes, as it turned out, I had to resort to more _human_ methods of finding you. I wasn’t sure why you left, though I had my suspicions that you were angry with what Heaven was having me do,” He paused, shaking his head, and revised his statement. “With what I _agreed_ to do, and _stopped you_ from doing, on their behalf.”

“I was never angry enough to leave you over any of that, Aziraphale. I didn’t like it, but we both did things we didn’t like for the job, especially back then. I left because I thought I was hurting you.” _And it turns out what I thought was a mercy is what hurt you the most_, he thought._ I wish I could stop hurting you. If I could just say it, maybe it would heal some of the hurt._ “How long have you been carrying that, thinking it was your fault?”

“Quite likely for as long as you’ve thought it was yours, give or take a hundred years or so.”

Crowley bit at his bottom lip and sniffed a bit, looking away.

“I kept them, you should know, the rose and the feather. Preserved with a miracle. I’d bring them out to hold whenever we’d fight, or something would happen and I was scared you… Well, anyway, I’d still have them if… If the bookshop hadn’t burned.”

“I would grow you so many roses. You can pluck my wings bare. Anything you want, Angel, it’s yours.”

“I want _you_.”

“You have me.”

“Not if you’ve given up.”


	6. Start To Feel Mortality Surround Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell hath no fury like a Principality scorned.

“Angel, you were there. You know what happened.”

“Yes, I do. You gave up then, too. I know you’re tired, Crowley. I know you’re exhausted and drained and having trouble finding hope right now, but you can’t keep giving up like this. You have to stop letting me go and walking away.”

He slammed his hands on the edge of the tub. “That’s not what this is!”

“And how is it different?”

“Do you really think I want thisss?” He was beginning to hiss his words. “I’ve already escaped the clutches of Hell twice today. The first time, I actually destroyed a Duke of Hell. The second time I threw my hands up in the air at _Satan himself_ and said, ‘_Not today_!’ Just how long do you think my luck is going to last? Face it, Aziraphale. Hell is _coming for me_. They already have, and sooner rather than later, I’m not going to be able to get away. And I can’t have them coming after you to get to me, either, so…The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can move on.”

The angel blinked. “Move on.”

“Yes.”

“You expect me to move on?” Aziraphale’s voice was deceptively calm.

“That would be ideal, yes. I want you to be happy.”

“Happy?” His voice cracked as the pitch rose. “I’m not going to be _happy_ if you die, Crowley!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then stop saying it,” he pleaded.

“Look, Angel, I’m, I’m trying to get you prepared for things.”

Aziraphale stared at him incredulously, wide-eyed, and flabbergasted.

“Okay, so, er, a lot, a lot has happened. It’s a lot to deal with, I know. Er, uh, about the flat,” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor as he spoke. “It’s yours. Everything in it is yours. You’re probably not going to want to stay here very long, though, because Hell knows where it is. When I’m gone, you should probably just take what you want and go hide somewhere for a bit. A few centuries might be enough.”

Aziraphale let out a strangled noise.

“I wouldn’t recommend taking the tv, though. Hell has a direct line to it. Well, really, it was a line to me, specifically, but I still wouldn’t trust it. I got a lot of messages through it. Watched a lot of reality television on it as well. Probably pretty evil by now.”

The muscles in Aziraphale’s clenched jaw were twitching.

“You’ll find paperwork in my desk— Er, mind the puddle of goo in front of the office door, of course. That’ll be Ligur. Well, what’s left of him, really, after I doused him in Holy Water earlier, anyway.”

Aziraphale inhaled loudly through his nose.

Crowley looked him up and down before continuing. “Right, uh, my desk. There’s paperwork for all my accounts. You’ll probably want to clear them out. Don’t worry. You’re already listed on all the paperwork as joint owner. I may have forged your signature, but it’s fine. I didn’t want to worry you, but wanted to make sure you had access in case of emergency. Anyway, there are a few lockboxes here and there that you might be interested in. There are some rather fascinating artifacts I’ve collected over the years that you might find particularly—”

“**_ENOUGH!!_**” Aziraphale bellowed. The water in the tub vibrated with the power of his voice.

“What?” Crowley, startled, asked as if he were actually confused by the outburst, because he was.

“What?” Aziraphale parroted back, mockingly.

“Yes, Aziraphale. _What? _As in_ what are you on about?_”

“How dare you.” His upper eyelids shot upwards while his lower eyelids followed, as if they couldn’t decide between wide-eyed shock or the narrow-slit glare of irritation.

“Angel, calm down.” He held his hands palm out towards the angel in a defensive gesture.

“I will _not_.”

“Right, uh, I apologize.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, clearly trying to process everything happening.

Crowley continued. “But it’s not like I was forging your signature to _get_ anything. It was to _give_ you—”

“What? No! Forging? That’s not what—”

“Then what is it?” Crowley cocked his head to the side.

“Oh, you’re being deliberately obtuse, aren’t you? It’s not funny, Crowley, not at all.”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re on about.”

That flew through Aziraphale like a swarm of hornets. “You, you… You’re not _dying_, you idiot!” He sputtered.

“But I am!” Crowley thumbed his own chest. “Hell’s #1 Most Wanted, that’s me.” He swept his arm out dramatically. “Probably got my picture up on every sticky wall by now.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Crowley, please. Stop.” There were tears threatening the corners of his eyes.

“Aziraphale, _Angel_,” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand. “This is important.”

Aziraphale jerked his own hand away. “I’ve been complicit in a great many terrible things throughout history, Crowley,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I won’t be through this. I won’t make it easy for you to leave me all alone. I’ll fight you as hard as I can.”

“Angel, I’m trying to prepare you.” The demon said, softly.

“You’re doing nothing of the sort! You’re so wrapped up in, in writing your own eulogy that you’re not even _considering_ what’s going to happen to _me_! I can’t _do_ this, Crowley.”

“But I am, Aziraphale! That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s _you_ that I’m thinking about most, here. I have to protect—”

“You can’t keep taking the choice away from me because you think you’re protecting me. You’re _not_. You’re _hurting me!_” His voice grew in volume and frustration as he clenched his fists tightly at the ends of his shaking arms.

“I’m the one that’s dying.” Crowley said, looking away. “I don’t know why _you’re_ the one getting so bent out of shape about it.”

“Do I have to run into _fucking_ traffic? Is that what it’s going to take, Crowley?” He was yelling at this point.

The demon shrunk back a bit, eyes wide with disbelief. “You… I’ve never heard you use that word like _that_ before.”

“Oh, you don’t mind it when my pants are down, but if I’m upset, suddenly it offends your delicate sensibilities? Well, I’m _fucking_ terrified, you idiot, and you’ve pushed me too far!” He was pacing around, running his hands through his hair. “We’ve been planning this for years, and we did it! Well, we didn’t exactly do it, but we were tangentially involved and it got done! We’re _finally_ on the other side of Armageddon. It’s what we _wanted_, what we hoped for, and all you can do is talk about leaving me _again_!” The emphasis placed on that last word was as cold as an icicle and twice as deadly. He leaned his hands on the counter, his back turned, glaring at the demon’s reflection in the mirror.

“You left me _first_ this time, you bastard,” Crowley hissed, sitting up straighter in the tub and pointing his finger. “Or have you forgotten what you said to me at the bandstand after I practically proposed to you?” His voice dripped with venom. ‘_There is no **our side**, Crowley. Not anymore! It’s over!_” He quoted, mockingly in an exaggeration of the angel’s accent and pitch, sneering after he finished speaking.

Aziraphale spun around to glare directly into his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe you need to get used to the idea of fucking yourself, Angel,” He growled under his breath.

Aziraphale threw the first thing he could grab at the demon, a bottle of perfume oil. It shattered on the wall behind Crowley as he ducked. _Apples. It had to be fucking apples. Of course it did. _

_“_Why do _you_ get to be mad and _I_ don’t?” He spat out as he reached for a towel and hoisted himself up out of the water that was now mixed with shards of glass.

“_Be_ mad!” Aziraphale threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “You _absolutely_ can be mad. I was wrong and I hurt you, and you _get to be mad about that!_ But what you _don’t_ get to do,” he glared as he pointed his finger at the demon toweling off in front of him, “is to throw that in my face, not when you’re so determined to leave me _now_.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” It was almost as if the angel were laughing as his hand danced through the air to punctuate the words. “You’re always _so_ right, aren’t you? It’s not the same thing at all, is it? It’s _worse_. There’s no coming back from that, Crowley. No change of heart. No talking it out or working through it. No waiting 80 years for you to come tap-dancing in like nothing ever happened this time. It’s what I’ve been terrified of for the last 6000 years, and you’re just going to lie down and let them do it. If you willingly let them dunk you in Holy water, as you’re so convinced they’re going to do, then I might as well march right down into Hell after you and kindly ask them to direct me to the nearest spout of Hellfire. It’s not like I could ever go back to Heaven now even if I wanted to, _which I don’t_. But what you aren’t considering is that I didn’t want to do _any_ of this originally, if you’ll remember, Crowley. I told you _no_ when you first asked. But you kept on and kept on, and talked me into it. You had a plan. _We_ had a plan! Well, we bungled the plan a bit, I’m afraid, but we…” He groaned and looked up. “_I defied Heaven_, Crowley! I gave up _everything_ for you. _There’s_ _nothing left for me **but**_ _you!”_ He snarled, shoving everything off of the counter into the floor. His chest was heaving, his eyes wild with anger and fear. He was every bit of someone who wanted to storm off, but with nowhere to go.

They stood in front of each other, Aziraphale catching his breath and Crowley absorbing what was said.

Aziraphale looked down at the mess in the floor and softened. He wiped his hand down his face, sighed, and said, “I… I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

“It’s all right, Angel. Don’t… don’t worry about it,” Crowley said quietly as he knelt down to sort the spilled bottles and empty boxes himself.

“No, no, I made the mess, I’ll clean it up.”

They looked at each other guiltily.

“It wasn’t just you. It was both of us. _We_ did this.”

_I did this. I pushed you to this._

They attempted to smile at one another through stress-thinned lips and pressed their foreheads together briefly before going back to setting things right.

One of the perks of knowing someone for over 6000 years is that, except for when you can’t, sometimes you can move forward from arguments quickly. But that doesn’t make it any less awkward for a bit. The silence between them was cumbrous as they picked through the debris to separate what was broken from what was still salvageable_._

_ This felt like the big one. Was this the big one? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this mad before. It was no flaming sword in my face or crumpled note bursting into flames, I suppose, but he threw a bottle at me. Did he actually say ‘fuck you?’ No, no, nonono. It’s not sexy when he’s angry. That’s enough of that. We’ve just got to… get past this part, I think. I really messed up this time. I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired of not knowing what to do. That tune has grown far too old. I need, **we** need, a new melody._

Crowley finally broke from his silent reverie as Aziraphale was trying to put a bottle into a box. “No, that doesn’t, that goes in this box, not that one.” He swapped the boxes between them. “Definitely don’t want to get those two mixed up. Here, see? It’s a bit hard to tell, but I’ve used them both enough times to recognize it. The label is just a little different.” Crowley pointed to the ingredient listing on the back of the boxes.

“I never would have known if you hadn’t told me. I really can’t tell the difference.” He squinted at the tiny print.

“Y-, yeah, they basically do the same thing, just different… formulas, I guess. Open it and take a sniff,” He explained, patiently. “See? It’s the same, but different. Feels a little different, too. This one is water-based, but this one is alcohol-based.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, the water-based one,” he held it up, “Isn’t as strong of a hold, which is nice because you get movement, but it’s not very secure. Just one touch of water and it’s gone.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale was genuinely interested in the same way one is interested when awkwardly trying to talk about anything but the explosive argument they had just been in moments before.

So was Crowley. “The alcohol formula, that one is a super-strong hold. Looks soft, but it’s very hard. No movement there. But most people wouldn’t even notice it unless they smelled it or touched it.” He held up the alcohol-based spray and grinned. “Or tried using it next to an open flame.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as Crowley’s face fell._ Oh, shit._

They both sat up, locking eyes on one another.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“The prophecy.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update might not be as fast as the previous ones, but it will still be soon. I have a lot of the parts written for the remaining chapters, but I'm also going to be a bit busy with some other projects this weekend as well.  
If I can find the time in between things, of course, I will be working on the story.
> 
> Until then, have a great weekend!  
Comments give me life and incentive!


	7. I Close My Eyes And Think That I Have Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindness, pillow-talk, reminiscing, and other ways to convince a demon to let his angel walk into Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turned out, the thing I thought I had to do this weekend wasn't ready to be done.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have been following this story! There's still more story to tell, but we're moving along now.

After they finished setting things right in the bathroom, Aziraphale helped Crowley stand up on shaky legs. Fatigue was creeping back in, masked only slightly on his face by the look of contemplation as the demon attempted to replay this new information within himself.

Aziraphale grabbed the pajamas and led Crowley out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He sat Crowley down on the edge of the bed and stood over him, shaking the pajama top out of its fold. He lifted the demon’s left arm to slide it into one of the sleeves of the pajama top, and then the right.

“M’not a child,” Crowley muttered. “You don’t have to dress me.”

Aziraphale looked up with amused eyes, but said nothing, his lips pressed into a hint of an affectionate smirk as he gently guided the demon to lie down and continued buttoning buttons from the bottom up.

Crowley placed his hand on top of Aziraphale’s hand as he reached the collar button. He looked up at the angel and sighed as he spoke. “You know I can’t let you do that, Angel.”

“I’ve taken you out of your clothes enough times to understand the basic principles of how to get you back into them, my dear,” Aziraphale smirked at the demon and reached for the pajama bottoms with his free hand. “Although I must admit, I _am_ perplexed by whatever method you use to apply your jeans.”

“That, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I’m aware. I’m choosing to ignore it.” He pulled his hand free, leaning down to lift Crowley’s feet to slip them into the legs of his pajamas.

“Aziraphale—”

“I’m not a child, either, Crowley.”

Crowley scowled up at Aziraphale.

“Be a dear and lift up, please.” The angel gave the demon’s hip a squeeze and two pats.

Crowley huffed, but lifted his pelvis as instructed. “You don’t want to go there, Angel.”

“Don’t tell me where I do and don’t want to go, Crowley,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on his own hands as he slid the pajama pants gently up and over the demon’s haunches, tying them at the waist.

Crowley pushed himself upright once he had been dressed. “It’s _Hell_, Aziraphale. _Nobody_ wants to go there.”

“Well, I _do_. Scoot up a bit, please.” He nodded towards the headboard.

“I won’t allow it,” he said as he wiggled himself backwards on his elbows.

“Do you truly believe you have any authority to make a decision like that on my behalf? Lift up.” Aziraphale tugged the blankets out from under Crowley.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The demon awkwardly shifted his feet to hold himself up when they were pulled out from under him. Aziraphale placed the blankets back over the demon’s legs. “As the lone entity that has been by your side for thousands of years, I think I know a thing or two about what you do and do not need.”

“Crowley, really,” he admonished, looking the demon up and down before walking around to the other side of the bed. “We’ve both been on Earth for the same amount of time.”

“And yet only one of us knows what the little light up man on the sign post means.”

He sighed as he flicked his fingers and was clad in a set of tartan pajamas. “Will you _stop_ bringing that up?”

“Why? _You_ don’t stop at the _crosswalk_!”

Aziraphale half-glared at him as he pulled the blankets back and climbed in underneath.

“Like it or not, it’s our best option.”

Crowley sighed. “I don’t know, Angel… There are so many things that could go wrong.”

“Agnes hasn’t been wrong yet, my dear. Every prediction has come true. She obviously knew what she was doing.”

“That is a _very_ generous description of someone who was staked to a pyre and died in a fiery explosion.”

“Which she _predicted_ would happen,” Aziraphale said, triumphantly.

Crowley tilted his head condescendingly. “That’s not the vote of confidence you think it is, Angel.”

“But don’t you see, Crowley? We can do this if we work together.”

“What happens if we get caught?”

“We won’t.”

“Aziraphale…”

“Nobody in any corner of the universe knows each other better than you and I do. We’ve spent thousands of years getting to know every bit of one another, inside and out.” His gaze briefly traveled down to Crowley’s lips and back up to his eyes.

“It’s too risky.”

“Riskier than being destroyed completely?” He responded, bitchily.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised at you. It’s not like you to be such a pessimist.”

“No?”

“No. You’re usually the hopeful one. You’re the one who always has a plan. You always come up with something.”

_What choice do I have when the alternative is you threatening not to talk to me again? Which, by the way, If we make it through this, I’m removing that card from your deck._

“I don’t have enough energy for optimism right now, I’m afraid. This is all that’s left of me.”

“It will work, Crowley.”

“You can’t know that for certain.” Crowley cocked his head to the side.

“But we do know. We have the prophecy.”

“How do we even know that this is what it’s about?”

“You said it yourself, Crowley, at the bus stop. _‘It’s like Agnes said. We have to choose our faces wisely.’_ What changed between then and now?”

“It’s reality, Angel.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

_Low blow._

“I _do_ trust you. More than anything.”

_Sometimes more than I trust myself._

“Then trust me _now_, Crowley. Please.”

“This isn’t about trust, Aziraphale! You’ve never been to Hell. You don’t know what it’s like,” the demon whined in spite of himself.

“Hell, I would imagine.”

“I’m being serious, here, Aziraphale. There’s a lot you don’t know that I’ve never told you. And trust me, you don’t want to know. It’s too much.”

“Look, I… I believe you, Crowley. I do. I know it’s bad. It’s _Hell_, for Heaven’s sake.”

Crowley winced.

“But the alternative is death.” Aziraphale’s eyes were full of sorrow.

“What if it isn’t even Holy Water? What if it’s an eternity in the deepest pit? You’d be trapped in Hell forever for absolutely no good reason. What then?”

“Are you really going to sit there and try to convince me of that after… after everything you’ve said this evening? You’ve done anything you possibly could to convince me that Hell intends to destroy you with Holy Water, and given the facts as they are, I’m inclined to agree that you were right about that now,” Aziraphale said, matter-of-factly.

“It’s probably not that bad. Probably just a good, old fashioned torture chamber. I might even be able to find my way out after a few decades. Chimney brush and all, you know? Fit into dark crevices.”

His attempt at lighthearted humor fell on deaf ears.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley!” His voice had become desperate.

“I haven’t survived as long as I have by being wrong about this sort of thing, Aziraphale!” Crowley had grown desperate as well.

In a last-ditch attempt at getting the demon to stop fighting him, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley on either side of his face, almost shouting, “But _this time_, if you’re wrong, I’m going to _burn in Hellfire!_”

The demon went wide-eyed, pale and limp in the angel’s arms as the breath was knocked out of him by the force behind that statement. Discordant, sour notes roared through his ears and crashed down all around him.

“You won’t be able to protect me from that, not while wearing that face. You have to let me do this, Crowley. _We_ have to do this. If you won’t let me do it to save your life, will you at least do it to save mine?”

Crowley whined softly as Aziraphale took his hand and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze. Without knowing precisely _how_ to do so, they both believed they _could _switch, and so they_ did_.

“Well, I knew if I couldn’t appeal to your sssense of reason, I could at leassst insscite your sssense of irrational drama,” Aziraphale swallowed dryly, unaccustomed to how his current tongue functioned.

Crowley looked at him through narrowed eyes. _You’re lying, I think. I can feel that warm, kind heart of yours racing. It feels as if it could fly out of my chest at any moment. You really **were** scared. I can’t see that performance of yours as being a bluff. It **was** good, no, it was great. If old Willie had ever seen it, you’d have been thrust upon the stage in an instant. But no, I know you all too well. _

_But I understand. I’m scared, too._

“Are you sure about that, Ang-, er, uh, Aziraphale?” Calling him an angel felt _wrong_ while looking into his own serpentine eyes. “Like you said earlier, it’s okay to not be okay.”

_This is weird. Do I sound weird? I do. I sound weird._

“No harm, no foul. It’sss tickety-boo.”

_Ah, there it is. That’s your tell. Now I **know** you’re lying. You may have started out trying to goad me into this, but you truly are terrified, aren’t you? Right. Guess that means I better get this right and not cock it up. You’ve had enough disappointment for a hundred lifetimes already._

Aziraphale shifted under the blankets in Crowley’s body with great effort. “Oh, Crowley, you really _are_ exhausssted, aren’t you?”

“Ye-, yeah, a bit. S’fine, though.”

“Sstill, uh, er, _anyway_, if you’d like, I don’t mind sstay-, _remaining_ in your corporation so you can get some relief.” He was getting slightly better at avoiding the hissing. Crowley was impressed.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No, no, you… Eh… I just need some rest. That’ll get me sorted. You don’t sleep.”

“I would if it would help you.”

Crowley reached out for… well, technically, _his own_ hand, though it was otherwise occupied by an angel. “I appreciate it, but it’s not just my corporation that needs rest. S’everything.”

“Oh, yesss, of course. Shall we swap back, then?”

He nodded.

Back in their own bodies, they held onto one another in the darkness. In spite of the vast amount of space on Crowley’s bed, the demon was spooled around the angel so tightly the two of them took up very little of it.

“Do you remember the last time we kissed?” Crowley asked Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale thought for a minute. “If I’m not mistaken, it was after we left Tadfield manor. We stopped for a nibble after you hit that girl with your car.”

“_She_ hit _me_.”

Aziraphale huffed a small laugh into Crowley’s hair. “You surprised me when I thought you were leaning over to open my door.”

“I remember now.” Crowley pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s jaw. “I thought you were going to invite me in when we got back to the shop.”

“I had intended to, in spite of your little Bebop comment.”

Crowley grinned against Aziraphale’s neck. “And then you found that old book. I never could quite compete with your books.”

Aziraphale somehow found a way to pull the demon closer. “My books could never compare to _you_.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened to your bookshop, Angel. After I couldn’t find you today, when… I thought... I couldn’t remember the last time we kissed.” He burrowed his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck to breathe him in.

Aziraphale ran his hand up Crowley’s neck, holding the back of his head. “I don’t want to hear any more about last times. It isn’t the end.”

Crowley lifted his head to look the angel in the eye. “Then give me another first time, Aziraphale.” His words played over the angel’s ears in a delicate melody.

“How?” He whispered, his fingers folded on the side of Crowley’s jaw, stroking the demon’s cheek with his thumb.

“The first time Heaven had no hold over you, and you were fully mine.”


	8. I Want To Sing Another Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley create a few new experiences.

“In that case,” Aziraphale whispered shakily, “there _is_ something I’ve wanted that, well, I was always too afraid of.”

_Oh_.

“Afraid for you, I mean. Mostly. Well, partly. I was afraid for both of us, really…”

Crowley, his expression soft and longing, watched Aziraphale’s face flicker between emotions.

Aziraphale continued, “…of what Hell might do if…” He sighed. “And Heaven would _never_ have approved. Well, I, I don’t think Heaven would approve of most of the things I’ve done, especially not the things that _we’ve_ done—”

Crowley used strength he didn’t have to hold back his smirk.

Aziraphale looked up towards the ceiling and took a deep breath. “But there was the chance we’d leave traces of ethereal or occult presence behind. If that happened, there’d be no denying anything. They’d _know_, and we had to stay hidden. Well,” his voice lowered, “That, and I kept trying to convince myself that I couldn’t disobey Heaven’s orders. But I never really was a very good angel.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and pulled his head back slightly.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We both know I’ve never been a particularly _good_ angel.”

“Nonsense. You’re the best they ever had. Not like the rest of those stodgy wankers.”

“But I’m not. I disobeyed my orders every day, when it suited me to do so. But I kept choosing Heaven over you. I regret that. But now… Now I don’t _care_. I don’t care if Heaven knows, and we have a plan to keep you safe from Hell.”

He looked at Crowley and smiled. “But there was also another reason we couldn’t, or at least, I _thought_ we couldn’t.”

Crowley grinned as realization washed over him. “Angel, demon—”

Aziraphale grinned back as he repeated the words from earlier that afternoon. “Probably explode.”

“But we didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” the angel beamed.

_Oh, you clever angel_.

“I can’t speak for any other angel and demon, but it seems that _we_ are… Metaphysically compatible.” Aziraphale shifted himself around to look down at Crowley.

“How did you know?” Crowley scooted up a bit to make room.

“I didn’t.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“Not at first!” His eyes were wide as he nervously tried to explain. “But I thought perhaps, well, give- given the prophecy—”

The demon leaned up to silence the dithering angel above him with a kiss.

_If this is the end, it would all have been worth it. But please don’t let this be the last. Now that we’ve had this, eternity would never be enough time._

_ Oh, Angel, my angel**, my angel**, finally, **mine**. I have been at your feet for so long, risking, hoping, waiting until you were finally free enough to fully collect me. I had no idea what that even meant until now. I thought I did, but how could I know?_

_Is this what it means to be fulfilled? Is this, what is this? I will build you a new Eden with my bare hands. At its heart, I will give you a tree and surround it with every fruit and flower you could ever desire. I will grow so many roses for you, a thousand red for every single thing you’ve lost, and a thousand more in every other color for everything I want you to have. I would give you every flower in the world and even create those that don’t exist. I will plant them in your earth and give them your light, I will water them with my tears of joy and they will be nourished by love. You clear my mind and our crops will thrive. Together._

_I can feel you. I can feel… I don’t even know how to describe this, other than **right**._

_Can you feel this? Can you feel the things I want to say to you? Do you know? I hope you know. Go-, Sata-, **Someone**, I hope you **know**. I love you, I love you, my angel, I love you. Please, please, **please** feel it. I need you to **know**._

** _You_ ** _ are the music that soothed the savage beast that I was and made me what I am._

** _Yours_ ** _._

Thoughts became jumbled, words melting into incoherent harmonic sound as their merged spirits shook their corporeal bodies through sheer emotional force. They had shaken one another through physical acts in the past, but it paled in comparison to this metaphysical act of unity.

Trembling and still physically tangled, they slowly pulled their own souls back into their respective bodies in as much as they were capable of separating them. Hearts racing in their chests, they held one another in the darkness.

“My love…” The angel whispered tenderly, pressing his forehead against his partner.

“My crops…” The demon muttered incoherently before falling asleep.

Crowley felt something brushing his face. He opened his eyes to meet a familiar gaze staring back at him. He smiled and closed his eyes again while Aziraphale continued to gently trace his fingers along the lines of Crowley’s face.

He loved waking up like this. Though he had lost count of how many times he had woken up in Aziraphale’s arms over the millennia, he always wanted more.

_Give us the next sunrise, and the one after that, and after that_, he thought. _I want them all, and when the sun burns out, give us the darkness to drift in together for eternity._

“Good morning, Angel.”

“Good morning, my dear.” He pressed a soft peck against the tip of the demon’s nose before tracing his finger down from between his eyebrows, over the bridge, and to his cupid’s bow lip.

“Did you watch me sleep all night?”

“No, not all night. I drifted off myself for a bit.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “You slept?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Briefly, yes. And when I woke up, nothing bad had happened.”

Crowley smiled up at him in amused delight.

Aziraphale pressed his lips briefly against Crowley’s before continuing. “And nothing bad is _going_ to happen today,” he affirmed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think. Not perfect, but better. Probably better than I should for only having a few hours of rest. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Aziraphale looked away briefly with a soft smile. “I might.”

Crowley yawned and arched his back in a stretch. “As much as I hate the idea of ever leaving this bed, I do believe we’ve got quite a big day ahead of us today.”

“Yes, I rather think we do.”

Crowley looked nervous. “Now, I don’t mean to burst this beautiful little bubble we have right now, but I think, given what we’re setting out to do, there are some things I really should know. Now, I know it’s difficult and you didn’t want to talk about it, but—”

“You want me to tell you about the Archangels that visited me yesterday.”

“Just trying to cover all bases, Angel. We can’t give Heaven or Hell any reason to question this.”

“No, no, you’re right.” Aziraphale sighed, rolled his eyes, and looked away. “It’s just…”

Crowley sat up and took the angel by the hand. “What?”

“You’ll think it silly.”

“I won’t. I might. But I won’t show it.” He smiled warmly at the angel. “I won’t.”

There was the tiniest hint of affectionate relief in Aziraphale’s eyes. “I think… Could we swap first? I think it would be easier to speak of this to myself than to you, if, if that’s all right. I know, it’s a bit, well...”

_Oh, Angel, I know **exactly** what you mean. I go through this every day. _

“Oh. No, that… Yeah, we can do that. That’s, that’s not a bad idea at all, actually.”

The angel’s face visibly brightened. “Oh, oh, thank you. Yes, I think that would help.” He looked at their hands and back up at the demon.

Crowley nodded and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was looking at his own face, and especially, his hair that was sticking up having dried against the pillow.

_That’s unfortunate. It’s lucky he loves me, because I look a mess._

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale noticed the disturbed look on the face across from him.

“My hair.”

He laughed with relief. “Oh, oh, I rather thought it was adorable, actually.”

“I’m a demon. I’m not adorable.”

“Of course you aren’t, dear," Aziraphale pouted playfully.

Crowley covered the face he was wearing with the hands he had borrowed. “Don’t do that with my mouth.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and bit the lip of the loaned visage. "I rather thought you _liked_ the things I did with your mouth."

“Anyway,” Crowley croaked out, “Talk to me about the Archangels.”

“Oh, okay. After your little tantrum—”

“Wasn’t a tantrum.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth and looked at him, condescendingly.

Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed. “After my little tantrum…”

“Yes, right. Well, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon walked up to me as I was headed back to the bookshop. They seemed to know about us. Michael accused me of consorting, and Uriel told me that my ‘_boyfriend in the dark glasses_’ was in trouble, too.”

“Hastur mentioned you when he and Ligur came after me as well. Do you think Heaven and Hell are working together? They’ve never brought up anything like this with me before yesterday.”

“It would seem that way, yes.”

Aziraphale may have been wearing Crowley’s own face, but the demon could tell by the way the angel in his corporation was fidgeting that he was hiding something. “What else happened, Aziraphale?” He said softly.

“Well, it’s not impossible,” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “That Uriel may have held me against a wall while Sandalphon punched me in the stomach.”

“What?”

“Calm down, Crowley. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right, Aziraphale.” He frowned and reached up to cup his other half’s cheek.

Aziraphale smiled weakly and leaned into the kindness of the touch.

“You know, if you had just led with that, I would have agreed sooner,” he growled, “Just to be able to get close enough to those Heavenly hypocrites…”

“Close enough to what?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing him warily.

_To rip out their throats._

“To rip out their throats.”

_Shit_.

“While pretending to be me,” Aziraphale replied, arching an eyebrow.

_ Right._

“Give them a good talking to?” Crowley smiled unconvincingly, the teeth in his mouth looking suspiciously sharper than they had been when the angel wore that face.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. The effect lost something in translation through Crowley’s face.

“Now, you know that look of yours doesn’t work on my face, don’t you?”

“Look? What look? I can assure you, I know nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale pouted and batted golden snake-slit eyes.

Crowley groaned. “Oh, please don’t bat my eyes like that. They’re not meant to be used that way. It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re not as cute as you think right now.”

“My dear, I am _gorgeous_ right now.”

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it with a snort. “You’ve got me backed into a corner. I’ll not ever tell you you’re anything less than beautiful.”

Aziraphale grinned and scrunched up his nose.

“Oh,” Crowley groaned again. “The things you make me _do_.”

They spent some time getting one another’s rhythm’s down. Carefully tuning their pitch and tonality, they rehearsed the steps of each other’s accent and scale.

They made plans to meet up in St James park mid-morning, giving them a couple of hours to recreate one another’s habits to give an impression as if no other plan had been in place.

“Kiss for luck?” Crowley grinned as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him. They stood in front of the door, lost in that kiss, for what felt simultaneously like an eternity and nowhere near enough time. They pulled apart just long enough for a head to rest upon a shoulder as they embraced, swaying softly to the music that couldn’t play out loud.

Aziraphale was the first to break the silence.

“I lo—”

Crowley rushed to cover Aziraphale’s demon mouth. “No, please don’t. Not where I can hear it. Stand in the mirror and say it all you want, all you _need_, after I leave, and know that I _do_. But please, have mercy on me and don’t make me listen to the words I can’t say spoken in my own voice. I can’t take it.”

Aziraphale’s chin wobbled as he nodded. “I’m sorry, I... I didn’t think,” he whispered as he put on Crowley’s dark glasses. He took a deep breath through his nose, exhaled through pursed lips, and suddenly the face he wore was familiarly dark and brooding. For the first time, Aziraphale thought he truly understood why.

Crowley tiptoed up for one last quick peck on the lips before rushing out the door.


	9. So Different From The One I Always Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley spends some time in Aziraphale's body and explores the bookshop.

Crowley flew through the door and ran down the hall, down the stairs, and around the corner as quickly as the bookseller’s body would allow for. He slumped as he slid down the wall to the ground. Elbows on knees and head in hands, he sat there for a moment.

“Late night?”

Crowley cut his eyes towards the strange voice.

“What?”

“I said, did you have a late night? I’m surprised anyone in the building got any sleep at all with all the yelling and carrying on that was going on upstairs. Practically a soap opera, it was. Between you and me, that bloke’s a bit of an odd duck, but he’s usually quiet, at least at night.”

_Right. He doesn’t recognize me like this._

He nodded weakly.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the stranger continued.

_And I have no idea who **you** are, but I am in the middle of a moment, and if you could just fuck off, that would be most appreciated._

Crowley and Aziraphale had agreed to limit any miracles while in the other’s corporation so as to minimize risk. If Crowley’s miracles hadn’t been being tracked before, they were certain to be now. It wouldn’t do for a demonic miracle to be traced back to the location of an angel’s body, not if they were to successfully maintain this illusion. They had to be careful. One of the unfortunate side-effects of this for Crowley was, apparently, uncomfortable and untimely small-talk.

“Just nipped in for a bit last night,” he said, without lifting his head.

“Oh, is that so? Who were you visiting?”

_Why?_

“Why?”

“It’s a secured building.”

Crowley sighed. “I came in with my friend last night.”

“And who might that be?” The stranger pressed on. Crowley caught the man reaching into his pocket out of his peripheral view.

_Great, he’s probably going to ring security. I could just have them call Aziraphale and hope he answered my phone, but I don’t really want to give my number to whoever this is even if Aziraphale **would** answer. Or worse, he’d answer and **come down**. As much as I don’t want to have a conversation with a stranger, I **definitely** don’t want to have a conversation about why I was sitting in a hallway with my head in my hands, after running out the door of my own flat, with Aziraphale._

He finally looked up at the stranger, his expression flat. “The odd duck.”

The stranger’s eyebrows went up with the realization of what was said. There was a faint dusting of red spreading across the man’s cheeks. “Right, be seeing you, then.”

Crowley watched as the man walked away quickly. If he hadn’t been so otherwise occupied by his thoughts, he might have appreciated that awkward discomfort his response had brought the stranger. As it was, however, he had more important things on his mind.

As much as he wanted to stay and comfort Aziraphale, he knew he had to leave. He couldn’t let his angel see the pain in his eyes, knowing now that Aziraphale had been blaming himself for millennia. The same dark glasses that shielded his serpentine eyes from the average human gave him the luxury of mystery when it came to reading his emotions. It protected him, in a way, with his desires and intentions largely hidden from the outside world. He hadn’t realized how much he had unconsciously relied on that addendum to concealing his demonic physicality until now. It was simply too much, hearing the opening notes to a song that hadn’t played out loud in the last 2000 years. He hoped he hadn’t made the angel feel worse.

“Right,” he said to no one in particular. “It’s time to leave the building.

To say he was a bit distracted as he made his way from Mayfair to Soho would be an understatement. He walked as if on autopilot, barely noticing anything around him that wasn’t moving. He was dreading it, seeing the remnants of the bookshop, but he had to do it. He needed to have an idea of the damage so he could prepare Aziraphale for when the angel inevitably wanted to see it for himself.

As he walked through Soho, he saw faces both slightly familiar and not. People walking up to him to speak as if he were interested in what they had to say had _not_ been a foreseen side effect of their switch.

_This is ridiculous. How does Aziraphale put up with this?_

After what felt like the hundredth person, though it was probably closer to maybe fifth or sixth, he finally turned the corner to find where the bookshop had…

_That can’t be right. It burned down. I was here yesterday when it happened. Didn’t it?_

He stood in front of the seemingly untouched bookshop, staring up at it without a trace of expression on his face. After a few minutes, he realized he had actually been standing in the road and not on the sidewalk.

_I suppose all of Soho is used to Aziraphale not paying attention to silly things like traffic. Still, probably best not to mention this part when recounting the story for him later._

The bookshop, recognizing him both in appearance as well as essence, unlocked as he approached. Tentatively, he stepped inside, the door locking behind him. As Sundays were treated the same as Tuesdays, there was really no need to leave the door unlocked or flip the sign to open.

Crowley attempted as casual a gait as he possibly could while he made every attempt not to saunter vaguely upward to the flat. He knew the first thing Aziraphale would want to know, upon finding out the shop was still standing, was how his books were. Crowley’s own curiosities could wait, at least for a bit.

He had spent so many hours wandering about the bookshop while waiting on Aziraphale to close up and lock the doors so he could whisk him away, either off to dinner, the theater, or simply upstairs. Most people who wanted to find anything would have trouble doing so, but Crowley had begun to understand the filing system. Though he would never tell Aziraphale this, he had been sneaking books that piqued his interest now and then to read when the angel wasn’t looking. He thought of certain titles, those he knew were the most precious favorites, both his and Aziraphale’s, and confirmed they could be found upon the shelves.

He walked through the shop, tracing his fingertips along varying surfaces, trying to discern if anything else was amiss. He still wasn’t quite certain if it was a dream or if this was really happening, that the bookshop was actually here. He could feel the texture of the wood on his skin and smell the pages in the air as the glowing dust motes dithered in the sunlight that filtered through the windows.

It was like standing in the heart of Aziraphale himself.

If Crowley was the music, then Aziraphale was the lyric. His angel, the collector of all of the words in every fathomable composition. Words that had changed meaning through time immemorable, forever held in the highest esteem, were stacked upon every available surface. He was a curator of colloquy, the Principality of prose, and keeper of the keys to the words locked away in Crowley’s chest.

_He **has** words, _Crowley thought as he looked around._ He has more words than most humans will hear in their entire lifetime. What he **needs** now is a new arrangement, one with a new meaning. If only—_

He shook his head, not bothering to complete that thought.

“Three times isn’t a hint as much as it is a sign,” he muttered to himself. “Still,” he sighed, “Would have been nice.”

He moved further around the room, eyes attempting to take in every detail, when a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. It was a set of Just William books, books he had never before seen, on the top of Aziraphale’s desk.

“Those are new,” he said to no one in particular.

He moved closer to take a better look. He picked up a volume, flipping it open. He smiled as he read the inscription.

> ** _Mr. Aziraphale, _ **
> 
> ** _I bet you’ll find these books loads more entertaining than anything else you’ve got in your shop._ ** ** **
> 
> ** _Love,   
_ ** ** _Adam._ **
> 
> ** _P.S  
_ ** ** _Please tell Mr. Crowley to take better care of his car this time. My dad says you should do all the things the manual says should be done every weekend, and probably not set it on fire, I suspect._ **

“Adam,” Crowley laughed softly to himself as he held the book open in his hands. “Clever boy. You really _did_ save the world, didn’t you?” He smiled as he carefully placed the book back with the others.

Crowley noticed something poking out underneath the corner of the desk. He bent down to pull out a single red rose and a black feather, tied together with twine. There was only a light dusting of soot and ash showing on the surface. He wiped it off easily with his fingers.

“Preserved with a miracle,” he whispered, echoing Aziraphale’s words the night before. “They never burned.”

_It’s almost, but not entirely, as if nothing even happened._

The gears slowly turned in his mind as he began to hope. He looked around and found some paper and a pen. Stationary in one hand, the rose and feather bundle in the other, he headed upstairs.

He went from room to room, glancing about to verify everything was as it had been, mostly, the last time he had been there. He leaned in the doorway to the kitchenette, smiling at the winged mug in the drainboard.

He remembered the look on Aziraphale’s face when he gave it to him. He thought it would have been a little funny, as there wasn’t really a particularly comfortable way of holding the mug by the handle. There was no hole for a finger to go through, so one essentially had to pinch the wings or hold the hot cup itself. But the way that angel beamed as he took it out of the box and held it lovingly in his hands, you’d think it was the most precious thing in all existence.

He pushed off of the door to continue looking around the flat.

Upon entering the bedroom, Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still hadn’t fully come to terms with everything he thought he had lost yesterday. He thought he had, but as soon as he crossed the threshold and smelled the aftershave sitting on the vanity, one of the boxes inside of himself fell over, having never been sealed in the first place, and let out a mournful tune.

He placed the rose bundle and the sheet of paper down on the vanity. He inhaled deeply from the aftershave bottle and went to sit on the bed. Clutching one of the pillows tightly to his chest, he curled up on top of the duvet.

_I almost lost him. I thought I had. I thought I had lost him and he was gone, and there was nothing I could do about it._

He remained there for a while before stretching over to Aziraphale’s side of the bed. He opened the bottom drawer on the bedside table and retrieved a tartan tin. He pried the lid open, popped a shortbread biscuit in his mouth, closed it, and returned it to the drawer. He rolled over to his side and retrieved a small bottle of scotch from the bottom drawer of his beside table. He took a couple of sips before returning it to the drawer.

He stretched, stood up, and went to the vanity, picking up the pen and paper.

He wrote down three words he had been struggling to say on the paper. Placing it face down on Aziraphale’s bedside table, he positioned the bundle with the feather and the rose carefully on top of it. He then went back downstairs.

Crowley had a meeting to attend with his clever angel in the park.


	10. Everyone Inside The Mechanism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven strikes.  
Crowley speaks up on Aziraphale's behalf.

They met up at St. James Park right at the agreed upon time.

As soon as he saw Aziraphale walking up in his body, Crowley felt a strange sensation pooling in his stomach. It wasn’t unlike hunger, but for something a bit different.

_Oh, that, that’s interesting. Is this how you feel whenever you see me? Or is it only when we might die? No, we’re not dying today. Focus. Stop thinking thinky thoughts. I am an immortal demon. I can handle a bit of residual angelic lust. Just keep it together. Especially the legs. Now is not the time. Oh how do you walk around like this? I think I may need ice cream._

“How’s the car?” Crowley asked to distract himself.

_Wait until you find out how I knew about it_, he thought.

“Not a scratch on it. How’s the bookshop?” Aziraphale replied.

“Not a smudge. Not a book burned. Everything is back just as it was.”

_I can hardly wait to show it you. I would give anything to see you as happy as I think you’re going to be when you get there._

“Have your people been in touch yet?”

Aziraphale shook Crowley’s head in response. “Yours?”

“Nothing.”

_Could it be they don’t care after all? Maybe they aren’t coming. Nah, probably not that lucky. They’re likely tracking our every movement even now. Ugh, I sound so paranoid. But is it, really? Does it count as paranoia when someone really is after you?_

“Do you understand what happened yesterday?” Aziraphale asked, cautiously.

_I don’t think that now is the right time to be having the discussion I want to be having with you about what happened yesterday, Aziraphale._

“I understand some of it. But some of it, well… It’s just a bit too...”

The sudden movement of a flock of pigeons caught his eye just before multiple sets of hands were on him. They were fast and surprisingly agile, having him gagged and trussed immediately. He was helpless, almost in shock, as they dragged him backwards. He knew _something_ was coming, but he still wasn’t prepared for something like this.

Heaven had struck _first_. They had kidnapped him and tied him up, thinking he was Aziraphale. He watched, trying to scream through the tape around his mouth, to tell the angel to run, as Aziraphale looked around for him in a panic.

They locked eyes as Aziraphale ran after them, pleading for anyone to help. “Stop them!”

Crowley let out a plaintive, horrified wail as he saw the crowbar come down on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Tears threatened the corners of his eyes as he helplessly watched his angel fall. His breath stopped in his throat as Aziraphale tried to crawl on the ground towards him, reaching out, before finally collapsing face down into the grass.

Crowley had previously thought that running into the burning bookshop was the worst moment of his life.

He was wrong.

Everything went dark as a hood was pulled over his head and he was thrown into a van.

_Aziraphale._

When the hood was pulled from his head, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Even in an angelic corporation, his demon eyes were sensitive to so much stark, cold, light.

Gabriel was yammering about something. Crowley wasn’t too keen on listening to much of it beyond the general unpleasantries one endures while nodding and thinking antisocial thoughts.

_He does like to hear himself speak. Some things never change,_ Crowley thought.

His attention was roused from the white noise that was Gabriel by the dark figure coming up from somewhere behind him to dump a pot of Hellfire into a circle of stones on Heaven’s floor.

_Eric_.

“Can, can I ask a favor? Can I hit him?” Eric the Disposable asked the Archangels. “I’ve always wanted to hit an angel.”

_Go hit one of them. You’ll not touch **my** angel. I’ll see to that._

“Go for it,” Sandalphon replied without hesitation.

His eyes cut briefly towards Sandalphon_. Oh, I’ll see to **you** soon enough, too, poppet._

Crowley clenched his jaw slightly as he looked down, waiting for the next move. The demon walked over and stood in front of Crowley, still tied to the chair. Eric made as if to ready himself to take a swing at the face before him.

The only movement Crowley made was a simple flick of his angel’s eyes up to meet the gaze of the Disposable one. Something so simple shouldn’t have been so terrifying.

And yet…

_If I ever catch you alone, you’ll wish Hastur had destroyed all of your copies. What I have in mind for you won’t be **nearly** as pleasant._

“I should be going back,” the Disposable Demon said, visibly and viscerally unnerved all of the sudden.

_Run_.

“I’ll come and pick up the Hellfire in, what, an hour?” The demon asked as he backed away, never taking his eyes off of the prisoner securely tied to a chair.

“Barbecue will be over and done by then,” Uriel said smugly.

_That’s not a nice word_.

With an almost imperceptible twitch of an eyebrow, Crowley turned his gaze back to see Uriel approaching him as Gabriel rejoined Sandalphon.

She pulled the ropes off of his wrists. “Up.”

_At least Aziraphale says please first and snuggles up after._

“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to reconsider?”

Sandalphon sneered, showing off his glittering teeth. Uriel looked bored. Gabriel’s face looked punchable.

“We’re meant to be the good guys, for Heaven’s sake!”

_I can’t believe I just said that._

“Well, for _Heaven’s sake_, we are meant to make an example out of traitors, so…” Gabriel said with perhaps more sparkle in his eye than was strictly required for the event. The other two Archangels looked to him briefly before turning their gazes back towards their captive.

_Liar_.

“Into the flame.”

“I don’t see anyone else here,” Crowley spoke with a voice that bore no hesitation.

Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows in irritation. “What?”

“I don’t see anyone else here,” Crowley repeated. “You said I was to be made an example of. But there are only the three of you here. There are no other witnesses, er, angels. Michael isn’t even here.”

“Michael is busy tending to things for your demon’s trial,” Uriel replied.

“Ah, Hell is giving Crowley a trial, are they? I suppose the invitation to my own trial must have gotten lost in the mail. Aren’t you the messenger, Gabriel? One might think that would be a point of pride for you.”

“Pride is a sin.”

“So is murder.”

“This isn’t murder, Aziraphale. It’s justice.”

“It looks to me as though you’re trying to quietly get rid of me before anyone notices. Doesn’t seem very above board.”

The only thing visible in Gabriel’s eyes was the reflection of Hellfire.

“Right. Well, lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.”

“We won’t. It’s Hellfire. It will destroy you absolutely and utterly and forever. Now shut your stupid mouth and die already.” He smiled a phony smile that never reached past the tip of his nose.

_You’d make an excellent Duke of Hell. You’ve the personality for it. As I understand, there’s currently an opening for a new one. Might even teach Hastur a thing or two. I could put in a word._

Crowley looked up into the flames and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he directed his gaze back to Gabriel and maintained eye contact as he walked into the Hellfire spout.

_Oh, this is quite nice,_ Crowley thought as he cracked his neck and relaxed in the fire. _Well, s’not nice, really. Pretty grim, to be honest. But it **feels** amazing. Quite rejuvenating, like a hot shower. Except it smells of Sulphur and brimstone._ He glanced over at the confused faces of the Archangels. _I wonder if any of them would let me hug them right now? Probably not, _he thought. He grinned at them and breathed a gout of Hellfire out towards the Archangels, noticing how Sandalphon and Gabriel clung to one another when they jumped.

_Interesting, _He thought.

“It may be worse than we thought,” Gabriel said.

“What _is_ he?” Uriel replied.

“Ineffable,” Crowley said as he emerged from the Hellfire and took a step towards them, relishing it as they all took two steps back.

“How are you so calm?” Uriel asked, incredulously. “You weren’t yesterday.”

Sandalphon laughed quietly through his sneer, but stayed tucked close to Gabriel.

Crowley glanced from Archangel to Archangel, meeting each of their eyes briefly before stopping on Gabriel. “Yesterday, I still had faith in you,” Heaven’s damned stated through the voice of an angel. “I had hopes, but was uncertain of what would happen.” He shifted his gaze to Sandalphon. “I believed in what I stood for, and after everything that’s happened, ineffably, I still do. God tasked me with the protection of humanity, and that is _exactly_ what I did. But yesterday,” he then turned to Uriel, “I _actually believed_ in you all, too, and thought…” He paused, thinking about how heartbroken Aziraphale had been over the whole ordeal, especially now that Crowley had seen first-hand the way The Host treated him, meeting Gabriel’s violet eyes once more. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought _now_, does it? Today, though I naively didn’t want to believe it possible, you’ve tried to execute me in what you’ve tried to dismiss as _justice_. And yet, here I stand, Armageddon averted, Unfallen, and even now _unburned_.” He looked from Archangel to Archangel as he continued speaking. “That certainty, that _clarity_, it’s really quite empowering. One might even go as far as to call it validation of one’s own part in the _Ineffable Plan_, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are you suggesting that we’ve done anything wrong here?” Gabriel glared.

_Yes, I am._

“As if we could possibly do anything against Her plan! You’re the traitor here, not us.”

_Oh, is that so?_

“By all means, don’t take _my_ word for it.” Aziraphale’s face smiled as warmly as Crowley could possibly attempt as his hands gestured towards the spout of Hellfire to his left. “Perhaps you’d like to confirm that theory for yourselves.” Crowley was close enough to the flames that they twinkled in his eye just enough to unnerve the Archangels before him. “But do consider, of course, that when instructed to do so, I entered the flame myself, and in spite of the fear any angel would have of Hellfire. I had faith in my actions. I believed what I had done was _right_. Now, I don’t think it would be fair to judge you all for that little display of fear while I was actually inside of the flames, as I would imagine you had been taken quite by surprise with the whole ordeal. But now that you know, and are quite confident in your decisions, I should think you, too, would step into the very same Hellfire with all the grace and dignity you possess.” His eyes went wide with delight. “Perhaps we could all go in together! Bit of a bonding exercise, do you think?” He smiled sweetly with a wave of his hand and a slight bow. “After you.”

Sandalphon and Uriel exchanged glances with the faintest hint of guilt. Gabriel’s glowering glare slipped slightly, his eyes widening as he processed the words.

“No?” The tone Crowley gave to Aziraphale’s voice concealed, but only just, his utter delight at watching the Archangels squirm as he casually traced a finger through the edge of the burning column.

_That’s what I thought. _

Crowley sighed to show his disappointment. “Pity.”

_It really is._

“And just why would that be, Aziraphale?” Gabriel’s patience was as thin as his confidence.

“I suppose I rather thought the Archangel_ Fucking _Gabriel would have faith enough in his decisions to lead by example.” He gave his very best effort to emulate the look of angelic condescension that had sat across from him eating cake in the little diner on the way back from Tadfield earlier in the week.

Gabriel looked back and forth between the Hellfire and the face Crowley wore. He shifted as if he were about to take a step forward and then stopped. Gabriel’s eyes turned down to the floor, the same as Uriel and Sandalphon.

Adjusting his bow tie once more, the demon quite literally in angel’s clothing cleared his throat and stared back as the Archangels looked up at him in unison. “Now,” he batted his eyes twice as he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly to the side with the faintest hint of a pout. “Are we quite done here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left in this story from Crowley's POV. 
> 
> I'm thinking on continuing with a follow-up fic from Aziraphale's POV, if that's something that you all might like to see.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	11. Yearning To Get Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end of Crowley's story, but it's the end of this part. 
> 
> Crowley has tended to business in Heaven and is headed back down.

As soon as the doors closed and he pushed the button for the lobby with a shaking hand, Crowley slumped against the wall of the lift and choked back a dry-heave.

_They were gonna kill him. They actually wanted him dead. Not discorporated. Destroyed. No trial, not even a discussion. Heaven had organized a plan to kidnap and murder Aziraphale, and I almost let that happen. I almost let them kill him. And why? Because I’m so blasted **clever**, aren’t I? _

_They barely listened to anything I said until I was about to step into the fire. They wouldn’t even give me a chance to defend anything, or really even say anything until I forced it. And had it been Aziraphale instead of me, most of that conversation never could have happened because—_

_“If you’re wrong,** I’m going to burn in Hellfire!”**_

The words echoed in his ears as he saw Aziraphale’s stricken face from the night before in his mind. When he looked across the way at the back of the lift, he saw another expression he never wanted to see on Aziraphale's face ever again.

_Everyone thinks they know what’s best for Aziraphale except for Aziraphale._ He slid further down the wall of the lift. _Heaven always told him what to do and expected him to do it without question, and they never gave a damn what he thought or wanted. And I did the same thing to him last night. _He looked at the floor display in the lift and growled._ This is taking forever. _

He stood up and started pacing.

He began muttering as he paced. “I don’t even know for certain what happened to him. I need this blessed lift to get to the lobby so these blasted doors will open and I can go look for him.”

_I can’t smell him. He’s not in his body. I can’t… how do I track him now? I don’t go around sniffing **me** enough to even know what to look for!_

Panic was starting to settle in. Crowley caught a glimpse of his angel in the reflective walls of the lift. He looked as if he might cry. Seeing his angel's face ready to cry only made him want to cry even more.

_I'm haunted. I'm haunted by a specter and I don't even know if..._

He closed his eyes to avoid his reflection and grabbed the rail on the wall as if it were the only thing that would hold him up.

_Everything went according to plan,_ he tried to reassure himself. _If he isn’t in the lobby when I get there, he might have gotten out early and headed to the rendezvous spot. Or he’ll be getting out later and will head there after. But he’s going to have to cross a few streets to do it. Traffic might pass around **him**, but nobody’s going to stop for someone who looks like **me**. Stop, stop, just stop it. You’re working yourself up. Stop. Oh, but will the cars stop? _

Crowley groaned. At least, that’s what he’d call it, in spite of it sounding more like a whimper.

“I don’t even know if he’s—"

The doors opened.

An extremely familiar face in the lobby looked up at the sound while adjusting his tie and patting down his jacket. Crowley practically beamed as he stepped out of the elevator and towards Aziraphale.

The two of them sat in St James Park, as they had many times before. But as familiar as it was, it was also quite different. For one, they had just successfully switched back into their own bodies. But, perhaps more importantly, they were openly laughing together underneath the sun.

“Tempt you to a spot of lunch?” Crowley asked, mindlessly sliding his thigh over.

Aziraphale watched out of the corner of his eye, rubbing his palms along his own. “Temptation accomplished,” he wiggled in delight.

_Just look at him_, Crowley thought as he sipped champagne next to an angel._ He’s so happy right now. So free. We both are. _

“Oh, I meant to tell you. Your plants are absolutely breathtaking!” Aziraphale's eyes twinkled with delight.

“Oh, you liked them, did you?” Crowley asked, nervously.

“I did. But they seemed a bit out of sorts. But don’t worry, my dear. I took good care of them for you.”

“_What did you do_?”

“I soothed them," Aziraphale said, proudly.

“You soothed them," Crowley echoed back. "In _my_ voice.”

_Oh, no._

“The poor things were terrified!” Aziraphale looked dismayed.

Crowley groaned. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? They’ll never listen to me now.”

“What are you on about?”

“Do you know how hard it is to train a plant? It’s not like training a dog. You can’t just offer up a biscuit and expect it to _grow_ _better_.”

Aziraphale scoffed and tried to hide his grin behind a champagne flute. “Well, what about you, then? Tell me about yours.”

“Aziraphale, I… I don’t really want to talk about Heaven here.”

“And neither do I. In fact, I should think I’d rather not talk about that for at least the rest of the day, if you don’t mind. I’m in a lovely mood, and I don’t wish to spoil it.”

Crowley smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

“Just tell me about what happened before all of that. After you left the flat.”

“People kept coming up to me to talk,” Crowley grumbled.

“Oh, I do hope you weren’t too abrupt when you stopped them.” Aziraphale smiled in a way that said he only partially meant what he was saying.

“What?” Crowley sat upright.

“When you stopped the conversation.” Aziraphale was looking at his fork as he brought a bite of pastry to his mouth.

“You _do_ that?” Crowley asked, incredulously.

Aziraphale put his fork down.

_Uh-oh._

“Oh, tell me you _didn’t_.”

“I didn’t! I just stood there and listened!” Crowley replied, wide-eyed and pleading innocence.

“Why? I don’t!” Aziraphale looked exasperatedly at the demon. “I politely acknowledge them with a smile and nod, and if they persist, I ask one or two pointed questions, and then, depending on the answer, I excuse myself to walk away.” He sighed with irritation. “Perfect. And now people are going to want to come into the shop to talk. And do you know what people who come into bookshops also want to do, Crowley? Do you?”

“Buy books?”

“They want to _buy books_, Crowley!” He quietly slapped his hand down on the table between them. “Oh, it will be a _complete_ nightmare. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

“Perhaps that makes us even for the plant thing, then.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks puffed out in a huff as he picked up his champagne flute to take another sip.

_I love seeing you so free and bright. You’re usually so muted and restrained when we’re out. This is worth the inevitable leaf spots_.

_Mostly_.

Crowley reached his hand over to cover the hand Aziraphale had on the table. The angel glared at him out of the corner of his eye, but turned his hand over to give the demon’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Finishing the last bite of his dessert, Aziraphale placed his fork down neatly and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “So, what are you in the mood for now?”

“Well, I thought we might head back to my place first.”

Aziraphale cut his eyes towards Crowley while an eyebrow and a corner of his lip lifted slightly.

“To pick up the Bentley,” Crowley continued. “And then I thought I might show you to your Bookshop and let you look around a bit.”

_Oh, what are you doing to me with that pout, Aziraphale? Oh, right. I remember now. **That**._

“And we might also need to have a little chat about…” Crowley gestured loosely from the angel’s lap to his stomach with his hand, “that cssertain sssituation you’ve got going on when you see something you like.”

“Oh, you felt that, did you?” He wiggled his eyebrows, then scrunched up his nose, looking pleased. “And now you know I can’t help it. Not one bit. My corporation simply has a mind of its own when it comes to what it enjoys.”

“Oh, does it, now?” Crowley replied with a softly fond and playful voice.

“It does. It _enjoys_ very much.” He stood up and held his hand out for Crowley to take.

They walked side-by-side and hand-in-hand out of the restaurant.

_I never imagined walking down the street like this, just being able to hold his hand without fear, would mean so much,_ Crowley thought, _but it **does**_. They had never really been able to do this before. Usually Aziraphale kept his hands clasped together while Crowley kept his own in his pockets as a precaution, just in case either of them mindlessly reached out for the other. Now, it didn’t matter. The only thing holding them back _now_ were the laws of human decency, and even those could be circumvented in the right circumstances.

He twirled Aziraphale around by the hand like they were a pair of ballet dancers, pulled him close in a pas de deux, smiled, and kissed him right there on the sidewalk.

“What was that for?” Aziraphale asked as their lips parted.

“Because we _can_.”

“I suppose we can!” Aziraphale smiled with a laugh that tinkled like so many tiny metal combs brushing against the hard-spooled cylinders surrounding Crowley’s heart.

_I would hear your melody every day, every hour, every minute. Together we’ll compose new things, beautiful, ineffable and wordless, but not meaningless. They will be the greatest symphonies of the demonic and divine, and I’ll learn to play them in any way you wish to listen. I would—_

“Oi! Walk around! We’re not invisible. You saw us standing here!” Crowley hissed at a passerby who seemed too put-upon to step to the side to pass by them.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a fond grin, wrapped an arm around the demon’s waist, and they continued to walk.

They stepped into the lobby of the building, walking past a man who suddenly seemed very interested in the contents of a post box.

_There’s no post on Sunday._

Crowley glared at him as they walked down the hall to head up to his flat. Recognition settled in as they rounded the corner.

_You_.

He hated to let go of Aziraphale right then, but he was on a mission. He held a finger up to his lips to indicate to Aziraphale to shush, and then grinned. He crept imperceptibly back a few steps and poked his head back around the corner, just behind his neighbor as he closed his post box.

“Quack-quack,” the demon said.

The man before him jumped and let out an embarrassed yip as he spun around.

Crowley arched his eyebrow with an amused grin as he tilted his head back slightly.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called from down the hallway.

He turned his head to answer, “Coming, Angel.” Taking one last look up and down at his neighbor, he grinned and flexed his fingers in a rhythmic wave before ducking back around the corner to catch up to Aziraphale.

They were walking to the door when Crowley said, “Right, if you want to wait right here, I’ll just go grab the keys out of my other pants and we can pop over to the shop.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale began, “do you think we could maybe step inside for a few minutes?”

“Anything you want,” Crowley replied softly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a bit surprising, though. I figured you’d be champing at the bit to get back to your shop.” He smiled at the angel and tilted his head slightly as he opened the door for him.

“I, I am, of course,” he said as they walked inside. “But there’s something I would like… to, to talk with you about.”

“Is everything all right, Angel?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know. I seem to have made rather a mess of things.”

“Oh, you’re an angel, and the best of the lot of them. I don’t think you _can_ do the wrong thing,” he grinned, snaking an arm around Aziraphale’s waist.

“Oh, but I can, and I believe I did. I wanted to wait to speak to you about it privately.”

“That sounds serious,” Crowley pouted just a bit.

“Possibly. Won’t know for sure until you check your jacket pocket.”

“This isn’t another one of your magic tricks, is it?” Crowley tried his best to stifle a groan.

“No, no, there really is something there. I put it there this morning.”

Crowley patted himself down and pulled a small white lacquered box with gold clasps out of one of his pockets. His eyes flickered nervously back and forth between the box and the angel at his side.

“It fell out of your dirty jacket when I was tidying up after you headed out,” Aziraphale explained, nodding towards the tiny box.

Crowley continued to look at the box, but said nothing.

“I, I didn’t, I didn’t open it,” Aziraphale quickly added.

Crowley curled his fingers protectively around the box.

“You hadn’t called me to the bandstand to _practically_ propose to me, had you.”

“Not _practically_, no.”

“And even after that, you came to find me again the next morning, yesterday morning, trying to get me to come with you… Like you did at the bandstand.”

Crowley opened his mouth and took a breath as if he wanted to speak, but then exhaled and closed it again.

“And then the…” He sighed heavily. “The third time, the Bookshop was on fire.”

Crowley pressed his lips together, watching the angel carefully through his dark glasses.

“I don’t suppose…”

“Uh… mm… er…” Crowley hedged a bit, making a few noises that even onomatopoeia couldn’t touch, before forming a coherent sentence. “M-maybe I should take you to the bookshop… Have a look around. I checked and things looked all right to me, but you’ll be better at spotting any differences, I think.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” Aziraphale looked crestfallen as he abruptly turned towards the door. “Well, three times does seem to be the limit, after all,” he said, almost, but not quite, under his breath.

Crowley reached out to touch Aziraphale’s hand. “Angel?”

Aziraphale stopped, but did not turn around.

“Did you…”

_—I love you, I love you, I’m sorry I can’t say the words when they’re stuck like this, but I do, I love you, I love you—_

“Did you do what I said… In, in front of the mirror?” Crowley asked gently.

Aziraphale’s hesitated before nodding slightly in silent affirmation.

Crowley placed the angel’s hand over his own heart, rubbing his thumb softly across the angel’s knuckles. “Good. That’s… That’s good. Thank you.”

Aziraphale tilted his head a little, looking from his hand over the demon’s heart and back up to his face. Crowley smiled half a smile and nodded. The angel sighed and stepped over to wrap his arms around him. He laid his head on the demon’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss on his collar.

Crowley pulled him closer. “My angel,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on top of his head.

He pocketed the box, ran to grab the keys from his other pants, and they went back downstairs to head to the bookshop.

Crowley was holding the door open for Aziraphale to step inside the bookshop when someone walked up. “Hello again, Mr. Fell! I see you’ve—”

“Sundays are as Tuesdays, I’m afraid,” he said, pulling Crowley inside of the shop quickly and locking the door behind them. He gave a lovingly murderous look towards the demon as he pulled down the blinds.

“Go on, then. Have a look,” Crowley said with a flourish as he spun around. Any residual divine rage left in Aziraphale’s demeanor seemed to melt away as his expression turned once more to fond.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale lovingly and devoutly ran gentle and awe-struck fingertips along the spines of book after book, shelf upon shelf, almost as if dancing between wonderment and unbridled joy. The spell was broken when cocked his head to the side and looked at the set of books he had never before seen on top of his desk.

“Read the inscription,” Crowley nodded towards the books, indicating the first one.

Aziraphale picked it up with hands that might have trembled on another day, but instead moved with the grace and beauty of the tiny dancer in a music box.

Somehow, the angel’s face grew even warmer as he smiled down at the book in his hands.

“That clever boy,” he smiled, placing the book back on the shelf.

Crowley followed Aziraphale as he headed upstairs to the flat.

“My mug! Oh, my mug!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “I thought it was gone. I love it ever so much, you know. It’s one of my favorite things that you’ve ever given me, my dear.”

The demon wrapped an arm around the angel’s shoulders, squeezing as he kissed his temple. “Would’ve gotten you another, Angel.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be the same. Although, I suppose this one isn’t the same, either, is it…” The brightness in Aziraphale’s smile dimmed slightly as he sighed. He closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders back, and said, “Nothing for it, I suppose. On we go,” and moved back into the hallway.

Crowley followed Aziraphale as he moved from room to room, looking over things. The angel stopped suddenly as he walked into the bedroom, gasping softly. Tentatively, he stepped towards the bedside table, reaching out to pick up the red rose and black feather, in near-perfect condition, only showing minimal signs of soot and ash. They were tied together with the same twine he had used almost 2000 years ago. "It's still the same," he whispered in reverent gratitude. Underneath where the bundle had been placed was a piece of paper. He clutched the bundle to his heart as he lifted the paper up to read it.

There, written in that chicken-scratch print he would recognize anywhere, were three words.

** _Marry me, Angel_**

“Adam reset a lot of things, Angel.” Aziraphale heard Crowley’s voice from behind him. “It’s almost as if certain events that happened yesterday afternoon never happened at all.” He turned around and looked down to see Crowley kneeling on the floor, hands cupped together and extended forward, the white box held between them. The look on Crowley’s face was a swirling combination of hopeful and terrified.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice melted.

“Wait! Before you answer,” He struggled with the box as he tried to open it. He flipped it around a few times, trying not to panic as it slipped through his fingers into the air before he caught it. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of struggling, he managed to flip over the right clasps to pry the box open. He let out a quiet note of relief, and his entire body relaxed in a way it hadn’t for a very long time.

The inside of the lacquered box with golden clasps was lined in ivory velvet. Nestled carefully in the center was a gold ring with embellishment that looked like the branches of a tree. There were six tiny rubies on it, resembling apples. He pulled the ring out and held it up towards the angel’s hand. “Third time’s the charm?”

Aziraphale looked back and forth from the ring to Crowley. “Are you really tempting me with an apple, you wily old serpent?”

“I’ll give you the whole tree,” Crowley breathed out, his heart beating rhythm in time with every chord and chorus of every melody he had ever locked up inside of himself. “I’ll give you an entire Eden.”

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale whispered, smiling as he slid his finger through the ring.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to end it. I almost split this last chapter into two, because it kept growing as I was writing it. But it's time.
> 
> Thank you for reading. The comments have been so wonderful. I love them. They encourage me to continue on. The next part of the story is coming soon, though I have to get caught up on some art projects first, both for my own personal use as well as for the Good Omens Big Bang.
> 
> I have a few ideas for some art that I might do for this and the next, if I get the time.  
Meanwhile, if anybody _else_ gets any sort of artistic inspiration after reading, I'd love to see it and share it.
> 
> Be on the lookout for Aziraphale's side of the story in _Apres Moi, My Dear_, which is based on [Apres Moi, by Regina Spektor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MlSNck2oP8).  
Like Music Box, it is also a track on the Begin To Hope album. Begin To Hope is an underlying theme in both stories.
> 
> It will be posted in [Celestial Spektors](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534550) in the event you might like to subscribe to that series for updates.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> Be sure to leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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